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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 








DOUBTING CASTLE 


A RELIGIOUS NOVELETTE 



^0^ COPYR/Q/y^ 

A DEC 16 ; - P; ^ 

/"V' .. 'a- 


NEW YORK 

JOHN B. ALDEN, PUBLISHER 
1891 


IFTEODUOTIOIS'. 


Perhaps some morning in the month of 
June, before the first glance of the sun-god 
has paled the morning star and kindled a 
blush upon Aurora’s cheek, you have stood 
upon a lonely hill. Perhaps the stillness of 
the hour has penetrated your soul, and rested 
like a weight upon your heart. The valley 
beneath you was an abyss of darkness; all 
around you were the sloping sides of the 
hill, indistinct to the eye and treacherous to 
the foot; far, immeasurably far above you 
were the star-pierced heavens, while not 
even a bridge of vapor spanned the mighty 
chasm between. 

Then, perhaps, all at once you eagerly 
thought there was a change in the face of 
the East and yet a change so slight that it 
was almost like the wraith of hope mocking 
the skeleton of despair. 

By and by the solitary note of a bird broke 
the hitherto all-pervading silence, and that 


4 


INTRODUCTION. 


note, added to tlie suspicion of dawn, woke 
in your mind the thought and hope of 
morning. Soon another note was heard, 
and then another, and, at the same time, 
your eye marked a faint, but now unmis- 
takable, flush in the eastern sky. 

What a sweet resurrection of joy is yours ! 
Morning is here! Her artist-flngers are fres- 
coing the ceiling of the day. Her fairy 
loomsmen are feeding the shuttles of light 
with thread on thread of gold and crimson, 
as they weave a royal wedding garment for 
the blushing earth. Her orchestra is mak- 
ing vale and hillside .vocal with matchless 
melody. In a few short moments the sun 
peers over the horizon. His red-eyed, sleepy 
stare changes into a golden smile. The 
hills and valleys break into happy laughter. 
You grope no more; for all is light where 
darkness was, all is hope where dwelt despair. 

If you have experienced this, you can 
sympathize with the honest doubter who, 
from the thick night of unbelief, watches 
through the hours when first the hope of 
coming light stirs in his heart, to the 
moment when the budding dawn of faith 
bursts into full-blown day. 


CONTEOTS. 


Introduction, 


PAGE 

3 

CHAPTER I. 

Deep Darkness, 


7 

CHAPTER II. 

A Meteor, 


. 21 

CHAPTER III. 

The Conference, 

. 

. 23 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Sewing Circle, 

4 

. 29 

CHAPTER V. 

An Episode— The Oath, 


. 47 

CHAPTER VI. 

A Shape in the Dark, 


. 59 

CHAPTER VII. 

A Skirmish, 


. 70 

CHAPTER VHI. 

Mother and Son, 


. 97 

CHAPTER IX. 

Mary to Edith, 



CHAPTER X. 

Mother and Daughter, 


. 107 


0 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XI. 

PAGE 

The Worm at Work, .... 

. . 117 

CHAPTER XII. 

A Confession, 

. . 121 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Edith to Mary, 

. 130 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Another Confession, .... 

. 135 

CHAPTER XV. 

A Shock, 

. 145 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The Sailor Evangelist, 

. 151 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Look of the Thing, 

. 162 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A Christian Heroine, 

. 173 

CHAPTER XIX. 

A Sad Sunrise, 

. 179 

CHAPTER XX. 

JOSIE, 

. 186 

CHAPTER XXI. 


Darkness Still, 

. 196 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Is Dawn at Hand? .... 

. 209 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Dawn, 

. 226 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Broad Daylight, 

. 240 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


CHAPTER I. 

DEEP DARKNESS. 

“Oh, mamma, when will it ever stop 
raining?” 

The mother thus addressed raised her 
eyes from her work and looked upon her 
five-year old son ; then there spread over her 
face the tender smile with which perfect 
motherhood greets her happy offspring. 

“Mamma is not a very good weather 
prophet, Eohin,” she replied, “but she is 
very sure it will he pleasant again to- 
morrow.” 

A short silence followed, during which 
the child flattened his white forehead against 
the window-pane, and, kicking up behind 
his tiny left foot, seized it with his right 
hand, and thus hoppled rocked gently from 
side to side. 

“Mamma,” asked the child presently, “is 
papa as good as Noah was?” This he said 
still pressing his face against the pane, and 
looking thoughtfully out upon the pouring 
rain. 


8 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


“Why do you ask, Eobin?” said the 
mother, with something of that expectant 
look which parents sometimes have when 
about to listen to the product of juvenile 
reflection. 

“ ’Cause,” said Eobin, “the water is get- 
ting deeper in the street, and I fink God 
must have broked the rainbow.” 

The mother’s soft laugh was echoed by 
another occupant of the room, — a young 
lady of twenty. 

“Mamma,” repeated the child, “is papa 
as good as Noah was?” 

“Yes, and a great deal better, I think,” 
said the mother. 

“Then,” said Eobin, with a relieved look, 
as he turned toward his mother, “I guess 
God aint going to drown the world again 
to-day, or he would have told papa to build 
another ark.” 

A voice approaching along the adjacent 
hall here sang, “ ’Eound and ’round the 
cobbler’s bench the monkey chased the wea- 
sel,” and a youth of eighteen shortly entered 
the room. 

“You’re the gentleman I’m looking for,” 
cried the new-comer, as his eye fell on Eobin ; 
“ will you help your venerable brother a lit- 
tle while in the shop?” 

“ ’Course I will,” responded Eobin. 

“ Then you’re the stuff, my lad, ” exclaimed 
the youth, moving toward the door ; and, in 
passing, he gave his sister’s pendent braid 
of golden hair a playful tug and was gone. 


DEEP DARKNESS. 


9 


with Robin in high glee perched upon his 
shoulder. 

The two children had scarcely disappeared 
when Mary Temple, whom this narrative 
chiefly concerns, rising and laying aside her 
work, moved slowly to her mother’s side 
and stood a moment in silence, with her left 
hand resting lightly upon the lady’s shoulder. 

“ What is it, daughter?” asked the mother, 
raising to Mary’s a pair of gentle brown eyes. 
Something in Mary’s face caused her mother 
instantly to drop her work and draw the girl 
into her lap without pressing the inquiry. 
Mary buried her face upon her mother’s 
bosom, and for some moments remained 
silent; then a stifled sob escaped her, but 
still Mrs. Temple made no inquiry further. 
Instead, she drew the girl closer to her bosom 
and softly kissed the shining head that was 
pillowed there. After a silence of some 
moments, Mary whispered : 

“ Oh, mamma, how shall I tell you?” 

“What is it, daughter?” now repeated 
Mrs. Temple. 

“You remember what Robin said about 
God and the rainbow?” said Mary, looking 
up at her mother. 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Temple. 

“God and the rainbow and Noah seem 
almost as reai to Robin as you and father 
and George,” continued Mary. 

“ And are they not as real to you?” said 
Mrs. Temple. 

“Oh, mamma,” murmured Mary, hiding 


10 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


her face once more; then, after a moment’s 
silence, she raised her head, and, twining 
her left arm about her mother’s neck, con- 
tinued : 

“ No, mamma ; the story of Noah is to me 
hut a legend from a barbarous age, and the 
rainbow is only a phenomenon of nature due 
to vapor and sunlight. Even God himself — ” 

Here Mary’s voice choked, but she shortly 
continued : 

“And God himself does not look at me 
kindly any more from the blue sky in the 
day-time and from the stars at night. He 
has gone away somewhere far beyond my 
thought and imagination. I think of him 
sometimes as a great engineer, with his 
hand on the lever that stops and starts the 
machinery of the whole universe ; for he no 
more seems to me a father to every one of 
his creatures, nor to any one of them, but 
only the first cause that put the principle of 
life into matter, and then let it work out its 
own results. I myself seem to have come 
from nowhere, and to be destined for nothing 
in particular.” 

For a moment Mrs. Temple seemed unable 
to speak, but at length she said : 

“Does not your own heart tell you that 
you have a never-dying soul?” 

“ No, ” replied Mary, “it tells me nothing 
that does not relate to this world.” 

Mrs. Temple was again silent for a 
moment. Then in a low, tender voice, she 
said: 


DEEP DARKNESS. 


11 


“Only God knows what a dark journey 
there may he before you, my daughter, but 
your mother will be the last to leave you to 
despair. I cannot feel, I do not believe that 
God, who has been my loving Father so long, 
will some day wrench me from my darling 
child, to see her face no more forever.” 

Great tears welled into the mother’s eyes 
and fell upon the golden head resting on 
her breast. A sob was the only response 
from Mary. 

“ The spiritual in your mind has become 
entangled in the meshes of the material,” 
continued Mrs. Temple. “ It may take the 
hand of God himself to disentangle it, but I 
am sure it will be done, and that some day 
the cloud will pass and you will see the 
gates of heaven more clearly than ever.” 

There was a pause, during which mother 
and daughter seemed wrapped in thought. 
At length Mary looked up and said : 

“You are so different from Edith Nicker- 
son’s mother. You know Edith was my 
room-mate at college. I never knew a better 
girl. She is honest and sincere. We studied 
geology, chemistry, and astronomy together, 
and, without knowing it, our minds ran in 
parallel channels. We went to the same 
church, and had classes near each other in 
Sunday-school. We discovered, accident- 
ally, that we were both making the same 
deductions from our studies ; and when we 
came to study logic and metaphysics, we 
exchanged opinions frequently with regard 


12 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


to their bearing upon all the theories of life 
we had before been taught. The result was 
that our religious faith became unstable. 
As soon as Edith was sure that her new 
ideas were not mere fancies, she wrote her 
mother all about them. Mrs. Nickerson’s 
reply was cruel. She charged Edith with 
harboring some awful sin that made the 
Christian religion uncomfortable for her; 
and, after a long scolding, she wound up 
with saying that, if Edith did not repent 
and believe the story of the flood, the Eed- 
Sea passage, the sun standing still, Jonah 
and the whale, and all the rest, she would 
disown her. I don’t suppose she would have 
done anything of the kind, but the threat 
broke poor Edith’s heart. You remember 
my writing you that Edith’s health had 
failed so badly during her last term that 
she was unable 'to stay for the graduating 
exercises. The cause was that letter from 
Edith’s mother. For many nights Edith 
scarcely slept, and I often heard her sobbing 
softly to herself during the night. She at 
length broke down entirely, and was com- 
pelled to go home. But she had been so 
conscientious and able a student that the 
faculty recommended her for a degree, even 
though she had not passed her flnal examin- 
ations. Her mother refused to let her 
receive her degree. Since then Edith has 
failed steadily in health. As I have told 
you before, she is now travelling with her 
uncle, who took his family abroad last year. 


DEEP DARKNESS. 


13 


He says Edith is the image of his mother in 
her youth, and he idolizes her accordingly. 
I am sure he must have had a very lovely 
mother, indeed, if she was like Edith.” 

“ Poor girl !” said Mrs. Temple ; “I believe 
you said her father was not living?” 

“He died four or five years ago,” replied 
Mary. “ He was a wealthy man, and left 
his family in good circumstances. Mrs. 
Nickerson seems to be an ambitious and 
headstrong woman. She has a great deal 
to do with church matters in the place where 
she lives. I believe she is at the head of two 
or three committees, and is the leading 
character in the W. C. T. U. She told 
Edith that if it became known that any 
member of her family was an infidel, she 
would resign from all her positions and hide 
herself in shame from all the world.” 

“I wish you had told me about Edith 
before,” said Mrs. Temple. “She would 
have found a warm welcome here; and I 
hope the next time you write you will invite 
her to make us a long visit on her return.” 

“ I knew you would not be less my mother 
because of this,” said Mary, her tears ris- 
ing; “but I kept hoping some new thought 
would show fallacy in my reasoning, and 
so put off telling you. But no such thought 
came, and I began to fear that doubt was 
taking a stronger hold on me because I con- 
cealed it.” 

“You must not brood over it, dear,” said 
Mrs, Temple. “ I hope you will often talk 


14 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


with me about it, and I do not care how 
many new arguments you bring up to sup- 
port your ideas. Christianity is not afraid 
of the truth at any time; and, above all, it 
does not believe in persecution. It is shock- 
ing that Mrs. Nickerson should have acted 
so harshly toward her own flesh. It seems 
to me that it is even more cruel to neglect a 
child when her mind is at fault than when 
her body is. Yet I suppose that, if Edith 
had had the scarlet fever or small-pox, or 
even yellow fever, nothing but force could 
have kept Mrs. Nickerson from her bedside. 
She is much more grievously afflicted in her 
mind, poor girl, than her body ever could 
be. I have no doubt that you are both hon- 
est in your belief, and that you have con- 
tracted this disease of mind just as innocently 
as one might contract a physical disease. 
You seem to have been the victims of 
somebody’s carelessness or clumsiness, and 
to need the physician and the nurse, rather 
than the judge and executioner.” 

“ I have not been at ease in my mind since 
this change commenced,” said Mary. “For 
months past Cowper’s words; 

‘ Blind unbelief is sure to err, 

And scan his works in vain, ’ 

have rung constantly in my ears. I am in 
a dilemma. Belief without conviction is 
hypocrisy, but positive unbelief seems prej- 
udice. I can stand on neither ground, and 
no one can imagine the pain and suspense of 


DEEP DARKNESS. 


15 


my position. I am not afraid of anything. 
For with honest unbelief comes relief from 
fear of punishment after death. The sense 
of responsibility reaching so far is taken 
away. At any rate, putting myself in a 
position of total unbelief, I feel as I imagine 
a plant or tree would feel, if it were con- 
scious ; that is, as if I were a thing made to 
he just what I am, without any power to 
make myself different.” 

“You certainly must be conscious of a 
power of choice,” said Mrs. Temple. 

“I am in doubt,” said Mary, “whether 
the feeling I have is of power to choose, or 
simply the absence of a feeling of inability 
to choose independently of circumstances. 
I do not think that the feeling is the positive 
one that I can do either one of two things, 
nor the negative one that I cannot. It 
seems to me that its true tint, without col- 
oring it with inferences of any kind, is the 
neutral one. That is the very plague of 
doubting; I cannot tell where I stand. I 
know that I do not believe as I once did. 
I am cut adrift from everything I once 
depended upon. Unbelief seems to he a 
kind of religious anarchy or nihilism. It 
destroys, hut never creates.” 

“My dear child,” said Mrs. Temple, “God 
grant that it may not rob you of the sense 
of right and wrong !” 

“That is what surprises me,” said Mary. 
“As far as the person who does it is con- 
cerned, one act seems as good or as had as 


16 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


another. People are either birds or serpents ; 
some sing and some hiss; but the singers 
sing because they can’t help themselves, and 
the hissers hiss for the same reason. The 
bird should not he praised nor the serpent 
blamed. Yet, in spite of this conviction, 
I love what I formerly loved and hate what 
I formerly hated. You, and papa, and 
George, and Eohin, are just as dear to me 
as ever. A lie is no less bad than it was 
before, but I don’t blame the liar even 
though I dislike him; for my dislike is of 
the same kind I would have for a rattle- 
snake — the poor thing is not to blame for 
being a snake. So I don’t see how unbelief 
can wreck my moral nature. My feelings 
seem to be involuntary; a sort of moral 
instinct, apart from reason and conviction, 
seems to control my emotions, and, conse- 
quently, my actions, by what our professor 
of physiology would have called ‘reflex 
action. ’ If there is any virtue in humility, 
then there is some compensation for the 
present state of my feelings. For I never 
was so humble in all my life as since I have 
been inclined to believe that I, of myself, 
am no better than the worst person, living, 
and ought not to be commended for it. I 
do not feel that a rose should be praised for 
being a rose, though its perfume is none the 
less sweet on that account ; for, as far as its 
own efforts were concerned, there was just 
as much likelihood of its being a thorn as a 
rose. The drops of vitality that have dyed 


DEEP DARKNESS. 


17 


its beautiful cheek were own brothers and 
sisters to the drops that stopped farther 
down and gave to the thorn its sting.” 

At this point the girl rose from her 
mother’s lap and resumed her work. When 
she looked up again she saw a tear glisten- 
ing in her mother’s eye. Tears immediately 
sprang into her own eyes, and, rising, she 
went to her mother’s side and said in a low, 
broken voice : 

“ Mamma, I have been very cruel to shock 
you so.” 

“No, indeed, daughter, ” said the mother. 
“It only makes me sad to think of the com- 
fort that has been taken away from you; 
because the time will come when you will 
need all you can get. What a great 
unfathered and unmothered thing this world 
must seem to you, without a loving God 
above it!” 

Fresh tears came into Mary’s eyes, but she 
did not reply. 

“My darling child,” continued Mrs. Tem- 
ple, taking in both of her own the hand that 
Mary had laid gently upon her shoulder, “ if 
a mother’s prayers can avail anything in 
the ear of a merciful God, you shall not be 
left to fight this battle in the dark alone. 
Your trouble has not yet commenced, how- 
ever severe it may have seemed to be thus 
far. You are upon a line of thought that 
will petrify this world of life and of emotion 
before your very eyes. The thought that 
there is neither merit nor the contrary, 
3 


18 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


intrinsically, in any act, will corrode your 
sensibilities, however you may fondly hope 
to the contrary. Men and women will 
become mere puppets in the hands of mys- 
terious destiny, straws on the ocean of 
circumstance, tossed hither and thither for- 
ever. The time wull come when the beauty 
will fade from the rose. You will no longer 
hear the rattle that warns from the fangs 
of the serpent. All colors will blend into 
one, and a sombre gray will take the place 
of the variegated hues that make the world 
so beautiful. Virtue and vice will sooner 
or later paint the same color upon your 
moral retina ; all human creatures will seem 
clothed in the same garments, and my high- 
souled, noble daughter will become the 
victim of absolute moral color-blindness.” 

Mrs. Temple paused as if choked with 
emotion, and Mary’s tears fell fast. When 
Mrs. Temple became calmer, she said : 

“Have you told your father this?” 

“No,” said Mary, “I wish you to do so 
for me. I want the sympathy and help of 
you both. ” 

Steps were heard, and a gentleman of 
middle age entered the room. 

“ Why, papa, ” said Mary as she kissed him, 

“ how wet you are ! The rain isn’t over yet. ” 

“No,’’ said Mr. Temple, “and I declare,” 
he continued, as he observed the undried 
tears upon Mary’s face, “the storm seems 
to be spreading into the house. I wonder 
where the leak is!” — scanning the ceiling. 


DEEP DABKNESS. 


19 


Here he kissed his wife, who had risen to 
meet him, and observing that she also had 
been weeping, he continued : 

“I certainly shall sue Jones for putting 
such a poor roof on this house. I have been 
flattering myself that there was not a better 
one in Boston, but here are my wife and 
daughter half drowned in their own sitting- 
room!” 

“You will be wholly drowned, papa, if 
you don’t get out of that overcoat,” said 
Mary, helping him to remove the wet gar- 
ment. Mr. Temple seemed about to reply 
in his former vein, but glancing at his wife, 
he seated himself before the open grate fire 
and said : 

“ Where are the boys?” 

“In the attic at work,” said Mrs. Temple. 
“ George came and carried Robin off a little 
while ago, to help him in the shop.” 

“I’m afraid Robin’s help will be more 
imaginary than real,” said Mr. Temple, with 
a smile. “Well, puss,” he continued, reach- 
ing out a hand to Mary, who stood near his 
chair, and drawing her upon his knee, “ are 
you quite sure that you are willing to give 
up your pony and cart for this summer, and 
go afoot in the hot sun and in the rain, just 
to help Mrs. Brown take little Sally to the 
White Mountains?” 

“Yes, papa,” replied Mary, “I made up 
my mind to that long ago. Do you think 
that that will make enough to pay their 
expenses comfortably?” 


20 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


and something more,” said Mr. 
Temple. ‘‘The horse-jockey that I told you 
about was at me again this morning, and 
he offered a good bargain if I would take 
the turnout by the first of next month. He 
says the pony is the best one he ever had ; 
as gentle as a sheep, but still young and 
handsome and quick on the road. But if 
your mind is made up, I must let the chance 
pass, I suppose ” ; and Mr. Temple watched 
intently the countenance of his daughter. 

“Yes, papa,” said Mary again; and put- 
ting her arms about her father’s neck, she 
kissed his shapely lips and gave him a little 
hug which was returned with interest. “It 
is so kind of you to let me have my own 
way about it,” she resumed. “I hope I 
shall be able to pay you some time.” 

“You have paid me a thousand times 
already,” said Mr. Temple, with a tremor in 
his voice, pressing the girl closer to him. 
There was silence for some moments, when 
Mrs. Temple, remarking that lunch must be 
ready, led the way to the dining-room. 


CHAPTER II. 

A METEOR. 


When at bedtime Mary entered her own 
room, her face wore a thoughtful expression. 
She lit no light, for the full moon was shin- 
ing in at her window, making the whole 
room radiant ; and it seemed to Mary that 
it illuminated with a peculiar brightness a 
picture of Christ blessing little children, 
which hung upon the wall at the foot of her 
bed. As the girl turned her serious gaze 
upon the benignant face, she thought there 
was a sadness in its expression which she 
had never observed before. She remained 
for some moments motionless looking at the 
picture, and then with a deep sigh prepared 
herself for bed. Her memory was crowded 
with recollections of the time when she first 
heard the story of the Saviour. She remem- 
bered well the wonder that possessed her 
as the narrative was unfolded; and as she 
looked upon the placid, moonlit landscape, 
she imagined it was just such a night as 
that upon which Christ was born. For 
these were the first hours which often follow 
the disappearance of a storm, full of a per- 


22 DOUBTING CASTLE. 

feet freshness and a celestial calm which 
visit the earth at no other time. 

Long after Mary had lain down for the 
night did these old memories throng her 
mind. She saw the wise men wending 
their way over hill and plain, with their eyes 
fixed upon the wonderful star. She saw 
them come at last to the manger in Beth- 
lehem, and pay their tribute to the new-born 
babe. She saw the flight into Egypt. She 
saw the lad in the temple, sitting in the 
midst of the doctors. She saw Him upon 
the mount, uttering the golden sentences of 
the Beatitudes. She followed him through 
all his wanderings and heard him utter 
parables, full of vivid truth. She saw him 
upon the mount of crucifixion, and heard his 
divinely pathetic appeal, Father, forgive 
them, for they know not what they do ” ; and 
at last she saw Him at Bethany, blessing 
those who were with Him ; and even as he 
did so, she saw the heavens open and take 
into their bosom the glorified Saviour. It 
seemed to Mary, as she looked again upon 
the picture, that the lips parted, and, while 
the gentle eyes beamed with heavenly love, 
there came forth the words, Come unto me 
all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I 
will give you rest”; and her bounding, 
yearning heart longed to cry I come.” 


CHAPTER III. 


THE CONFERENCE. 

“Husband,” said Mrs. Temple the next 
morning, in the dining-room, before the 
other members of the family had appeared. 

“Wife,” said Mr. Temple, laying aside 
the morning paper and drawing her upon 
his knee. 

“You remember finding Mary and me in 
a rather sad mood when you came in to 
lunch yesterday, do you not?” 

“Yes; it puzzled me all the afternoon 
while I was at work in the office, and I about 
made up my mind to offer a reward for the 
best explanation of the phenomenon. But 
perhaps I can bribe you for a small sum to 
tell me all about it.” 

Mrs. Temple repeated the conversation 
between herself and Mary. 

“I hope this has not gone too far,” said 
Mr. Temple, when his wife had finished. 
“Religious doubt amounts to a mental 
disease, when it has run about so far, and it 
is almost ineradicable. Of course you would 
have told me about it sooner, if you had 
known it yourself.” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Temple. “You 


24 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


were detained last night so late that I didn’t 
want to tell you when you came in, for fear 
it would disturb your rest.” 

‘‘Always the same thoughtful wife,” said 
Mr. Temple, kissing her. A bright look for 
an instant supplanted the anxiety in Mrs. 
Temple’s eyes as she rejoined : — 

“ The thoughtfulness is not all on one side, 
husband.” She then continued: “I fear for 
Mary’s health under this pressure. She 
takes it much to heart. She was greatly 
agitated yesterday when she told me about 
it; and last night, just before I went to bed, 
I ran up to her room and looked in. She 
was asleep, but her pillow was wet with 
tears, and there were tear-marks on her 
cheek, as I saw by the moonlight that filled 
the room. I bent over and kissed her sleep- 
ing lips, and I thought she murmured in her 
dreams, ‘Blind unbelief is sure to err. Oh, 
what shall I do!’ ” 

“Poor girl!” said Mr. Temple. “We 
must not increase her trouble by reproach ; 
perhaps it would be better not to argue with 
her at all. She might overmatch us in that. 
But we can do a great deal by appealing to 
her affections and by giving her examples of 
good Christian lives full of faith and works. 
If that fails, we have no remedy. Unbelief 
is a disease in some stages, as I said. It is 
like a sore made worse by caustic outward 
applications. ” 

“We think alike on that subject,” said 
Mrs. Temple. “Mary is not to blame at all. 


THE CONFERENCE. 


25 


She has a tender conscience and great affec- 
tion for us both; and it would break her 
heart if she thought we loved her less because 
of this. I could not treat her differently, 
for she is the same affectionate, reasonable, 
thoughtful daughter she always has been, 
and 1 certainly cannot be less than the same 
mother to her.” 

“ It is cruel to increase the pain of one in 
Mary’s position by reproachful words or even 
looks,” said Mr. Temple. “If there is ever 
a time when one needs all the affectionate 
support that the nearest and dearest can 
give him, it is at such a time, when the con- 
victions of years have been shaken, and he 
feels himself drifting he knows not where. 
It is pure savagery to point the finger of 
scorn at the victim of honest doubt and taunt 
him with the wreck of his sweetest hopes. 
It is like sneering and gibing at the writh- 
ings of one mangled by an accident. Mary 
has been neither careless nor wilful, and I 
feel she is without blame in this misfortune 
that has befallen her. It has been impossible 
for her, with all her good sense, to study the 
truths of science without suffering this in- 
jury to her peace of mind ; and as there can 
be no conflict between true religion and true 
science, the trouble is with the method under 
which she has studied, for which she is not 
responsible.” 

“Of course,” said Mrs. Temple, as her 
husband paused, “it will be impossible for 
Mary to continue with her class in Sunday 


26 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


school, or perhaps even to attend at all ; and 
that will sooner or later require explanation.” 

suppose it will work that way,” said 
Mr. Temple. But I shall see Mr. Goodrich 
immediately and tell him just how the mat- 
ter stands. He may think it his duty to call 
and talk with Mary about it ; would there he 
any objection to that?” 

^^Not unless Mary should object, and I 
am sure she would not,” said Mrs. Temple. 
^‘Mr. Goodrich has preached severe sermons 
against scepticism and infidelity in general ; 
but I have heard him refer considerately and 
even sympathetically to the victims of honest 
doubt. But don’t you think we should ask 
Mary if she is willing to see Mr. Goodrich?” 

‘‘To be sure,” said Mr. Temple; “I should 
have thought of that myself.” 

Here Mary entered the room, leading 
Eobin. Her countenance was sad, but it lit 
up with a bright smile at sight of her father 
and mother, and she exclaimed : — 

“ Love’s young dream at forty ! Let’s not 
disturb them, Robin,” and made as if to 
leave the room. 

“Don’t go, Mary,” said Mr. Temple. 
“We want to talk with you, and chiefly to 
ask you a question.” 

Mary colored. 

“ Oh, ” continued her father, “it is not a 
hard question at all. Come here and see.” 

Mary approached and perched upon her 
father’s unoccupied knee. Robin looked at 
the trio gravely for a second, and then half 


THE CONFERENCE. 


27 


said, half sang, “ Poor little Eobin is out in 
the cold,” and, without noticing the smile he 
had provoked, turried to amuse himself else- 
where. 

“My philosopher,” said Mr. Temple, in an 
undertone, glancing at Robin. Then turn- 
ing to Mary, he said : — 

“ Mamma has been telling me about your 
trouble, and we have concluded to ask your 
permission to state the case to Dr. Good- 
rich.” 

“ I must make up my mind, I suppose, to 
face all the consequences,” said Mary, after 
a moment’s thought, “ and if it agrees with 
your judgment and with mamma’s, per- 
haps Dr. Goodrich should be informed.” 

Here George entered, and shouting, “ Three 
birds with one stone,” ran to where the three 
were grouped and attempted to make his 
arms reach around them all. 

“Oh, dear! ” he cried presently, “how am 
I to get disentangled? ” for mother and 
sister had each thrown an arm about him 
and he was fast. 

“Rash boy!” said Mr. Temple, “did you 
think you were a match for two such well- 
grown women as your mother and sister, and 
could take them by storm in that way? Let 
this be a warning to you. Remember, one 
at a time, is the better rule ; and the wom- 
an’s heart that is worth the having can 
never be taken by storm.” 

My philosopher,” said Mary, patting her 
father’s cheek. 


28 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


“ In that, not so much a philosopher as a 
soldier,” said Mr. Temple. 

Breakfast was here brought in, and Robin, 
at' his father’s request, said grace, which he 
did as follows : 

God bless mamma and papa and George 
and Robin, and sister most of all, ’cause she 
has more trouble; for dear Jesus’s sake: 
Amen.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE SEWING CIRCLE. 

One blustering afternoon late in April, 
the church sewing circle assembled in Dr. 
Goodrich’s parlor. The younger members 
gathered themselves in a knot at one end of 
the room, while the older ones congregated 
at the other. Of course, there were those 
who could not claim to be either very young 
or very old, and they gravitated both ways 
according to circumstances. The gathering 
was not confined entirely to the softer sex, 
for many of the young ladies were escorted 
by brothers or other male members of their 
respective family circles. In one instance 
two girls, eleven and thirteen years of age, 
were accompanied by an uncle, a young man 
of twenty-eight, Henry Parker by name, a 
professor of natural science in a private 
seminary. This gentleman divided his time 
about equally between the two general 
groups alluded to. Dr. Goodrich’s daughter 
Ida was trying to fill the role of hostess and 
was chattering away in her most brilliant 
vein, when a girl of seventeen, turning to 
her, said; — 

“Where is Mary this afternoon?” 


30 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


The speaker was a rather stout girl with 
very black eyes but very white skin. Her 
hair was as black as her eyes, curly and 
short, having evidently been cut close at a 
time not far back. 

“Mary who?” said Ida, raising a pair of 
baby eyes to meet the glance of her ques- 
tioner. “Mary Antoinette, Mary Queen of 
Scots, Mary Smith, or Mary Jones?” 

Some laughed heartily at this; others 
simply smiled ; and still others did not seem 
to hear it. 

“You know who I mean, Ida Goodrich,” 
said the first speaker; “there is only one 
Mary in our set, except little Mary Thomas, 
and you know I don’t mean her.” 

“What Mary do you mean?” said Ida. 

“Mary Temple, of course,” said the dark- 
eyed girl. 

“Oh, don’t get angry, Josie Turner,” said 
Ida, “ I didn’t think you could possibly mean 
her.” 

“Why not?” said Josie. 

“If she had any delicacy, she wouldn’t 
show herself here,” said Ida, dropjnng her 
voice low enough to appear desirous that 
others should not hear, but not low enough 
to prevent from hearing those who desired 
to do so. 

“Why, what in the world do you mean?” 
said Josie, fire snapping in her coal-black 
eyes. 

“I’ll tell you some time,” said Ida, 
dropping her voice still lower. 


THE SEWING CIRCLE. 


31 


“Oh! you needn’t be so confidential about 
it,” said Josie; “you know you have no 
right to talk so about Mary Temple, and I 
am going to ask her what you mean by it.” 

This was said in a very distinct tone and 
emphatically enough to draw the attention 
of everybody in the room. 

“ Oh, do keep still 1” said Ida, this time in a 
genuinely low. voice. “ Mamma told me not 
to tell everybody, and so I did not want to 
tell you right here; hut if you must have 
your mind at rest about it,” dropping her 
voice yet lower — “ Mary Temple has become 
an infidel ! ” 

The last words were uttered in a sepulchral 
whisper, with a furtive glance at those who 
were attentively regarding the two girls. 

“If that makes the difference between 
Mary Temple and some other people I know, 
I wish her infidelity was catching,” said 
Josie, in a tone audible in every part of the 
room. “But I don’t believe she is an 
infidel — a very bad one, any way. I’m go- 
ing to ask her all about it next time I go to 
her house. And if I were you, I would be 
ashamed to speak of any one as you just 
spoke of Mary Temple. I wouldn’t speak of 
Trip that way, and he is not a very good dog 
either. But everybody knows Mary and I 
don’t believe you can harm her by telling 
such tales. She sat up with me four nights 
running when I had the fever, and helped 
mamma take care of me for three weeks, and 
I ought to know something about her, I 


32 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


guess. She is the best girl I ever saw. She 
has more sense than half the doctors, and I 
shouldn’t wonder if more than some of the 
ministers. ” 

“Miss Goodrich, who informed you of 
Miss Temple’s infidelity?” said Professor 
Parker, who had drawn near to the scene of 
tumult and was standing by Ida’s side. 

“I oughtn’t to tell, I suppose,” said Ida, 
“but seeing it is out, it can’t make matters 
worse. Mamma told me about it, and she 
learned it from papa, who got his infor- 
mation direct from Mr. Temple.” 

“ Do you know the nature of Miss Temple’s 
infidelity?” said the professor. 

“Not exactly ; but I believe she has 
outgrown the Bible, or something of that 
sort. ” 

“I presume you are reporting Miss 
Temple’s own words, of course.” 

“Yes, that is” — and Ida paused and 
colored. 

“That is,” said the professor, “you would 
judge from what you have heard that she 
expressed herself in about that language.” 

The professor’s manner was never more 
courteous, and yet the effect of his words 
was like that of the opposing counsel’s “ That 
will do,” at the end of a cross-examination 
which has been disastrous to the testimony. 
Ida blushed and remained quiet. 

“But I’ll bet Mary Temple said no such 
thing,” said Josie Turner, using an expres- 
sion that the boys understood, however it 


THE' SEWING CIRCLE. 


33 


may have puzzled the girls. Thus forced 
straight to the wall, Ida turned at bay. 

“Well,” she said, “Mary is none too good 
to use that language, any way, and I dare 
say she did use a good deal worse. You 
needn’t imagine, Josie Turner, because you 
think her brother George is so nice, that she 
has a right to ridicule the Bible uncriticised.” 

And then, with the wickedest look which 
it was possible for her baby eyes to display, 
and looking straight at her victim, she 
added: “And George Temple is not half so 
nice as you think he is.” 

“Shinny on your own side,” piped little 
ten -year-old Willie Goodrich. 

“Why, Willie Goodrich, ” said Ida, “what 
language !” 

“Well, keep your hockey stick on your 
own side, then, and let George Temple alone. 
He is a regular brick. You ought to have 
seen him wollop Bootblack Tim for slugging 
Johnny Bennet. And Tim is a good deal 
bigger than George, too.” 

“Willie Goodrich, leave the room this 
moment ! I am too ashamed of you for any- 
thing in the world. In all my life I never 
heard such language from a boy of your 
age.” 

Willie beat a headlong retreat from the 
immediate neighborhood of his sister to the 
immediate neighborhood of the door, where 
he turned and eyed his sister with something 
of the expression a cat has when deliberating 
whether to climb the tree away from the dog 
3 


34 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


or to wait until she is certain of being 
further pursued. Ida did not rise to enforce 
her order, but contented herself with casting 
at her brother a look of deep reprobation. 

^^Oh, there’s Mary now, ’’said Josie, rush- 
ing into the arms of her friend, who just 
then appeared in company with George. 

There was an awkward pause after the 
usual greetings, as if everybody feared that 
Josie would test the truth of Ida’s accusation 
on the spot ; but she made no mention at all 
of the dispute and seemed to have forgotten 
it; while Ida’s tongue completely ran away 
with her head, in her attempt to divert the 
minds of her guests from the recent subject 
of discord ; and she carried this so far that she 
at length over-reached herself and provoked 
the laughter of the whole company at her 
own expense. Hereupon Willie, apparently 
overjoyed at his sister’s confusion, skipped 
into the middle of the room, and executing 
several steps of the light fantastic, sang : — 
A heel and a toe, and a one, two, three!” 

^‘Why, Willie,” groaned Ida, “I certainly 
shall call mamma!” 

^^Oh, let the boy alone,” said Josie, ‘^we 
were young once ourselves.” 

The boy gave an admiring glance at his 
defender, while Ida retorted : — 

If I should let him alone for two minutes, 
he would have the roof down over our heads. ” 

‘‘Terrible creature!” said George, casting 
at Willie a side-glance full of mock timidity 
and apprehension. 


THE SEWING CIRCLE. 


35 


“ It didn’t use to be so, when — ” 

“You were young?” said George. 

“ When I was a little girl,” continued Ida, 
with a sort of a still-born smile. “ But — ” 

“ Things have changed since then?” again 
suggested George. 

“George Temple!” sputtered Ida, “they 
did not use to call it good manners to 
interrupt people, when — ” 

“You were a little girl?” said George. 

“I went out to afternoon parties.” 

“Long, long ago,” added George. 

“ And, ” continued Ida, with blood in her 
eye, “ when I was a little girlj they didn’t 
use to think they had outgrown the Bible.” 

“Oh, Ida,” chorused a dozen voices. 

“ But many things may seem different to 
people now from what they seemed to people 
a hundred years ago,” remarked Professor 
Parker. 

The young people immediately turned 
their attention to the professor, who con- 
tinued : — 

“By that, I do not mean that sacred 
things are less sacred, or that true politeness 
is less an evidence of good breeding than 
it ever was.. But with regard to the Bible, 
this age has a right to make its own inter- 
pretations aided by its own light, regardless 
of old ideas. No one has outgrown the Bible. 
It is the same grand old book to-day that it 
was in the time of Christ. In fact, its won- 
derful character stands out more strongly 
now than it did even then. The fact that it 


3G 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


still stands, a miracle of wisdom, after the 
developments of so many centuries of science 
and civilization, is a proof of its greatness 
and of its divine origin. 

“But its inspired character has not pre- 
vented its misinterpretation. It is a book 
of wisdom, and it requires the utmost wisdom 
correctly to interpret its profounder com- 
munications. In this, ignorance fails mis- 
erably and disastrously. Probably no 
inquisitor ever turned a thumb-screw or 
lighted a faggot without justifying himself 
out of the Scriptures, as he thought; and 
there is no crime that ignorance could not 
extenuate if not justify by misinterpreted 
Scripture. ” 

This was said deliberately, as if the result 
of mature thought. But Ida seemed to 
think the professor had spoken for her 
benefit. 

_ “ Professor, ” she said, “ perhaps you would 
give us an example of the misinterpretation 
of the Bible to one’s harm.” 

“Certainly,” said the professor; “for in- 
stance, ‘Make to yourselves friends of the 
mammon of unrighteousness. ’ I have heard 
that quoted to justify bad associations. And 
there is another passage, if my memory is 
correct, at about the tenth chapter of He- 
brews, which has been quoted in defence of 
religious persecution, although the context 
says, ‘Vengeance belongeth unto me; I will 
recompense, saith the Lord. ’ It is the verse 
which begins, ‘Of how much sorer punish- 


THE SEWING CIRCLE. 


37 


merit,’ etc. There are other passages that 
have been quoted in defence of slavery, po- 
lygamy and wine-bibhing, and apparently 
with reason.” 

“Now that you speak of it,” said Ida, “I 
know a girl at school who is always excusing 
her foolish tongue by saying, ‘Answer a 
fool according to his folly. ’ 

“ A great deal has been done in this way,” 
said the professor, “to breed new scepticism 
and infidelity, and to cherish that already 
excited. Injudicious Christians insist upon 
literal interpretations, and they carry it to 
srxch extremes that those who have neither 
the time nor the patience to make a personal 
investigation discredit the whole record 
rather than accept it as presented by the 
extremists. Among young thinkers the 
result is deplorable. I judge from expe- 
rience ; for when I was in my teens I passed 
through a period of painful doubt” — Mary 
looked up with sudden interest — “forced 
upon me by the efforts of a good aunt to 
make me believe that salvation depended 
upon belief of every word in the Bible, in 
the most literal sense. But I could not see 
how the sun could stand still without destroy- 
ing the earth; for of course that really 
meant the earth standing still and not the 
sun, and as the circumference of the earth 
is about 25,000 miles, and a point upon the 
circumference must pass a given point in the 
heavens, because of the earth’s movement 
xxpon its axis, at the rate of about seventeen 


38 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


miles a minute, I could not help trying to 
imagine what the result would be, if this 
ponderous earth, under such fearful head- 
way, should dash up against an order to 
stand still, as suddenly as my good aunt 
insisted it had done. I preferred to believe 
that there was some mistake in the record ; 
for I could not see what would have pre- 
vented the earth from being broken into 
fragments by such an event; or at least 
have prevented the ocean from swallowing 
up the land by its sudden displacement. 
But on looking closely at the account in 
Joshua, I concluded it was only a poetical 
representation designed to meet the barba- 
rous minds of those early times. In fact 
there is a reference to the book of Jasher, 
which was a poetical work, I believe, and 
the Bible writer seems to say frankly 
enough, that that book is his authority for 
the statement.” 

‘^But, professor,” said Josie, once heard 
my uncle say, in talking about that miracle, 
that it was easy enough to believe, if you 
believed in the omnipotence of God ; because, 
having given Joshua the power to work the 
miracle. He could have as easily prevented 
the consequences you refer to.” 

‘‘Yes,” replied the professor; “that did 
not occur to me at the time, but it after- 
wards did, and it relieved my mind a great 
deal. Yet the more reasonable explanation 
of the matter, I still think, is the poetical 
character of the narrative. If God had 


THE SEWING CIRCLE. 


39 


empowered Joshua to make the sun stand 
still, it would really have been God’s miracle 
and not Joshua’s, and the ingenuous char- 
acter of the narrative would have been 
impaired.” 

“But still,” said Josie, “I don’t suppose it 
would have deceived anybody to say that 
Joshua wrought the miracle, any more than 
it deceives us when some little three-year-old 
nephew or niece writes us a letter, having 
the little hand guided by the hand of some 
older person. We know that our little 
Jimmy or Johnny or Dolly or Daisy can’t 
write a word unhelped.” 

“I think. Miss Turner,” said the professor, 
“that you have well analyzed and stated 
the situation from that point of view ; and 
if one were not too fond of believing in the 
unbroken reign of law, that explanation 
would be quite satisfactory. But it seems 
to me that the time has come for these ques- 
tions to be discussed from all possible points 
of view by intelligent people, whether old 
or young. Truth must prevail. Of course 
we Christians believe in the perfection of 
ihe Bible, or at least we profess to believe 
so, and we should show our sincerity by not 
fearing an honest examination of the facts.” 

Here Dr. Goodrich entered the parlor 
unobserved by the professor, who was facing 
in the opposite direction. Without noticing 
the gentle stir which the new-comer had 
caused among his hearers, the professor 
continued : — 


40 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


^‘Outside of its two covers, there is no 
authority for the statement that the Bible is 
the inspired word of God ; every conviction 
in the human heart that argues its inspira- 
tion must be prompted by an examination 
of the book itself. The more frankly Chris- 
tians recognize and confess this fact the 
better for thorough-going Christianity.” 

^^Ibeg your pardon for eavesdropping,” 
said Dr. Goodrich, coming forward, but I 
was too much interested in your remarks to 
interrupt you. I hope you will go on with- 
out reference to my intrusion.” 

^^It is no intrusion, doctor,” said the pro- 
fessor; am, on the contrary, glad of your 
presence at this moment, that we may have 
the benefit of your judgment. I do not 
know whether I agree with the theologians 
upon this subject, but I am convinced that 
the only w^ay to cope with unbelief is to open 
the field of discussion to all comers, never 
fearing harm from a full and free examina- 
tion of every point at issue.” 

“I once thought differently,” said the doc- 
tor ; but recent observation teaches me that 
the time has come for change in the old 
theological method of treating these dis- 
puted matters. In particular, I do not think 
discussion of the Bible’s inspiration should 
be kept from the young. That method 
seems rather to injure than to benefit the 
cause. Honest parents often bring their 
children up to believe every word in the 
Bible in a perfectly literal way ; but when 


THE SEWING CIRCLE. 


41 


they get older they learn of a series of facts 
which seems — mark, I say “seems” — to 
overthrow the Bible story completely ; and 
the shock, with many of them, is so great 
that it damages them for all time, and 
often — God have mercy on them! — for all 
eternity.” Mary glanced at the clergy- 
man and observed for the first time that 
many of the company were studying the 
effect of the doctor’s words upon her devoted 
self. 

Dr. Goodrich resumed : 

“I do not see but that the only way to 
disarm infidelity in this direction is to allow 
the young to listen to discussions with re- 
gard to the true nature of the Bible, and 
even to participate in them. Truth ought to 
stand as good a show as falsehood at the 
hands of the young. I do not think the 
young cleave naturally to falsehood rather 
than to the truth. Christianity offers such 
overwhelming inducements to believei’s as 
almost to bribe them into belief whether 
they will or no. I hope I may be pardoned 
for the sin of saying it, if sin it is, but the 
danger rather is that one may deceive him- 
self into belief without sound conviction. 
Look at it I Unbelief offers annihilation at 
death, which belief makes but the threshold 
of eternal ages of perfect happiness. How 
long would a sane person hesitate in mak- 
ing a choice between them? Throw away 
heaven to lay hold on earth ! What is this 
world with its few clouded mornings, com- 


42 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


pared with the unfading brilliance of eter 
nity’s happy dawn! I have thought of it 
long and deeply of late, often in an agony of 
prayer and supplication for light, and I am 
more and more of the opinion that there is 
something wrong with the minds of people 
who seem willing to exchange unending 
spiritual bliss for the baubles of transient 
sense, that pain while they yet please and 
perish while they yet glitter. I feel that, 
in proportion as people actually believe in 
Christ, they live so as to secure the rewards 
which He promises; I cannot believe people 
who say they believe in Christ and His prom- 
ises and yet live had lives. For Christianity 
not only promises everything hereafter, hut 
it has the promise of the life which now is. 
And so, all the way up from the worst to the 
best people, soundness of belief is measured 
by works. If I believed otherwise, I would 
be forced into necessitarianism and to the 
belief that, with heaven before their very 
eyes, people are driven down the paths which 
lead to eternal darkness by some terrible 
influence over which they have no control.” 

“Where does the responsibility rest, then, 
doctor, for that want of belief which makes 
their lives so faulty?” said Mary Temple. 

“ A great deal of it rests upon ministers 
of the Gospel,” said the doctor. “It be- 
hooves them to quit riding hobbies of 
theological wisdom and stop insulting the 
goodness of God and the intelligence of 
man. But unbelievers come in for their 


THE SEWING CIRCLE. 


43 


share of the responsibility, especially if they 
neglect to look around them and see the 
proofs which would place them upon the 
firm ground of faith.” After a pause: 
“Professor, please step into my study a 
moment ; I have something to show you ” ; 
and they left the room. 

The two had scarcely disappeared, when 
Josie, throwing one arm about Mary’s 
neck, kissed her forehead and whispered : — 

“ I knew my darling was not altogether to 
blame.” 

Quick tears filled Mary’s eyes in response 
to this tribute of affection. Presently Josie, 
glancing at the clock, said : “ How late it is ! 
Auntie expects me at half-past four.” 

“But don’t it rain!” said George Temple; 
“ and it blows great guns. I don’t believe 
you can manage your umbrella alone, Josie ; 
may I go with you?” 

“Certainly, if Mary has no use for you,” 
said Josie. 

“Go by all means, George, if you wish,” 
said Mary. 

When Josie and George had left the room, 
Willie Goodrich approached Mary, and, seat- 
ing himself upon a foot-rest, looked up into 
her face, and for some time seemed lost in 
thought. 

“I don’t think infiddles are such very 
awful things, after all,” he said at length. 

“ What has made you come to that con- 
clusion?” said Mary, with a glance at the 
boy’s earnest face. 


44 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


“ Why, Ida says you are an infiddle or a 
skiptick, or something of that sort; but I 
wouldn’t mind a hit if she were one, too, if 
she would be like you.” 

Mary glanced at Ida, who sat a little dis- 
tance away, apparently overwhelmed with 
confusion and totally at a loss how to divert 
attention from Willie’s remarks. In despair 
at the situation, she suddenly left the room. 
Mary thanked Willie for his good opinion, 
and asked him if he knew what “infidel” 
in02inij 

“No,” said Willie, “I don’t think I do, 
exactly. Does it mean anything like ‘hypo- 
crite’ or ‘Pharisee?’ ” 

“ Oh, no !” said Mary. “ The word means 
simply ‘unfaithful,’ ‘untrue to,’ but it has 
come to have a peculiar meaning when 
used as sister Ida used it.” 

“What do they mean by calling you ‘un- 
true’ and ‘unfaithful’? I don’t believe it,” 
said Willie. 

Mary hesitated, and finally said : — 

“ Perhaps your papa will tell you, if you 
ask him. He could explain it much better 
than I.” 

.^t this moment quick steps were heard 
and Mrs. Goodrich immediately entered the 
parlor and looked swiftly about. As soon as 
her eyes fell on her youngest born, still in 
close conversation with Mary, she said : — 

“William, I have been looking all over 
for you. I didn’t have any idea you were 
here. Your sister has been taken with a 


THE SEWING CIRCLE. 


45 


violent headache, and wants you to go to the 
apothecary’s.” 

Willie immediately left the room; and 
Mrs. Goodrich approached Mary, and, em- 
bracing her affectionately, said : — 

“ I am so glad, my dear Mary, that you 
have not decided to deprive us of your com- 
pany and your assistance at these gatherings 
for sweet charity’s sake. You do not know 
how much I have thought about you lately. 
Of course” — lowering her voice — “ the doctor 
told me about your trouble, and we have 
both prayed for you ever since on every 
occasion of prayer, and I am sure we pray 
for you constantly in our hearts. I felt it 
my duty, in spite of my indisposition, to 
come and express to you the deepest sym- 
pathy and the hope that you will not long 
continue in darkness and doubt. Good-by, 
dear” — kissing her again — “I must return 
to my suffering Ida.” And she was gone 
before Mary could acknowledge her kindness. 

“ Poor Ida !” murmured several voices. 

At this point Professor Parker returned 
to the parlor. 

“Oh, uncle,” said his younger niece, run- 
ning up to him, “ we began to wonder if the 
doctor had sent you off post-haste as mis- 
sionary to the Cannibal Islands.” 

“Oh, no!” said the professor, “my com- 
mission does not take me so far from home.” 

At this point, Mary started for home, 
leaving a message for George, who had not 
yet returned. She had but just gone when 


46 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


Professor Parker’s older niece approached 
him and said in a confidential whisper : — 

Uncle Henry, Mrs. Goodrich wishes 
Jenny and me to stay and take tea with 
Ida. Do you object?” 

No,” said her uncle, ‘^1 don’t see that 
there is anything to prevent. I will pass 
this way about seven o’clock and will call 
for you.” After this he quickly took his 
leave. 


CHAPTER V. 


AN EPISODE — AN OATH. 

After leaving Dr. Goodrich’s parlor, 
Mary walked on toward home, thinking not 
of the disagreeable weather, nor even of the 
more disagreeable make-believe friends with 
which one is sometimes aflSicted, but of the 
words of Professor Parker and Dr. Goodrich. 
For they seemed to promise to restore her to 
the old, delightful faith. There seemed to 
her now a wonderful meaning in the declar- 
ation, “The letter killeth, but the spirit 
giveth life.” By discerning the spirit in the 
Bible narrative, even the letter seemed 
secure, as in the interpretation given by Pro- 
fessor Parker. Was not the Bible a book 
for the spiritual guidance of the world, and 
was it not natural and fitting that it should 
be interpreted in the spirit? Why should it 
he measured by the same gross standard 
employed with material things? 

Filled with these thoughts and almost 
oblivious to external objects, Mary tripped 
lightly through the rain. A lively gale was 
blowing, and, in order to hold an umbrella 
at all, it was necessary to keep it tipped 
toward the wind. Mary was crossing a 


48 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


street within a few blocks of her residence ; 
upon her right, everything was hidden by 
the umbrella. Suddenly, above the din of 
the wind and rain, she heard a cry of warn- 
ing, but before slae ascertained the cause 
she was seized by a pair of strong but gentle 
arms and carried bodily to the curb in front 
of her. None too soon ! A pair of gigantic 
horses, running away at the top of their 
speed, and dragging a ponderous truck, 
which reeled and staggered and wavered and 
sagged at every bound of the mad animals, 
thundered by within a few inches of Mary’s 
place of refuge. With blanching face, she 
turned to see who was her rescuer. It was 
Professor Parker, who, without hat or 
umbrella, stood before her in the pouring 
rain. The pause was but for an instant. 
The professor hurried Mary to the shelter of 
a friendly awning and made a dash for his 
lost property. The hat was ruined, but the 
umbrella was still sound. 

“Professor Parker,” said Mary, as soon as 
she could find her voice, “you have saved 
my life. That is all I can say. I will not 
insult such a service by attempting to requite 
it with words ” ; and under the strong re- 
action, she trembled violently, and, closing 
her eyes, leaned heavily upon the professor’s 
arm. A tremor ran around her eyelids, her 
lips quivered, and for a moment she seemed 
on the point of losing consciousness ; but at 
length, recovering sufficient control of her- 
self to open her eyes, she smiled faintly up 


AN EPISODE— AN OATH. 


49 


at the anxious face of the professor ; then 
presently whispered : Ought I to tell 

mamma?” 

think not,” said the professor; ^^it 
would do nothing but harm.” 

The professor thought the pressure from 
the hand upon his arm became very like a 
squeeze ; but it might have been his imagi- 
nation. He took leave of Miss Temple at her 
door, and, as he started for home, was still 
debating the question as to whether that pres- 
sure was a squeeze, when he was brought to 
his senses by a hearty voice which sang out. 
Young man, wait a moment!” Turning, 
he saw a stout-looking elderly gentleman 
extending his hand. The professor accepted 
the tender on general principles, and the 
stranger said : 

That was a plucky and nervy thing you 
did a few moments ago. I saw you start 
for the young lady, and I thought you would 
both be trampled under the feet of those 
mad horses or crushed by the wagon. I 
thank God, sir, that this wicked world still 
produces an occasional man like you,” and 
he gave the professor’s hand another and 
more emphatic grip than that with which he 
first seized it. 

You are certainly highly flattering,” said 
the hero; ^^but you are not acquainted with 
the young lady who was the cause of my 
adventure, or you wouldn’t give me so much 
credit.” 

So you think anybody would have run 
4 


50 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


the same risk in behalf of the same person?” 
said the stranger. 

“ I can hardly imagine a person who would 
not” said the professor. 

“Take care, young man,” said the stran- 
ger; “that is a dangerous symptom, and I 
ought to know. I have suffered with that 
disease myself, and it is the worst one on 
earth.” 

The professor seemed at a loss how to take 
this kind of talk from a total stranger ; but 
appeared to conclude that it was not his 
positive duty to he offended. 

“ I thought I escaped when I landed the 
young lady on the curb,” he said. 

“No, no,” said the stranger, “in my 
opinion you were in no danger until after 
you reached the curb. Well,” — sighing — 
“ this is a strange world. Things are terribly 
mixed. In life we are in the midst of death ; 
in security, we are in the midst of danger ; 
in danger we are the most secure. That 
state which we are getting out of is the 
very one we are crawling into as fast as we 
can, like a blind baby creeping into an ele- 
vator well. We all need watching by some 
wiser being than we are; and of all the 
people who need guardians to save them 
from their own insanity, young people in 
love need them the most.” 

“ But my dear sir, how do you know I am 
in love?” 

“Didn’t say you were, young man; but 
the symptoms are as plain as a case of 


AN EPISODE- AN OATH. 


51 


measles. Oh, I’ve had ’em, and had ’em 
bad,” and the speaker gazed into the young 
man’s eyes with an expression of sorrowful 
reminiscence. 

“In your case, I’m afraid they struck in,” 
said the professor. 

“And your fears are well grounded,” said 
the other promptly. “The wonder is that I 
didn’t die; but I didn’t; and I’m still here to 
warn mariners off the reef upon which I 
made shipwreck.” 

Before the conversation had gone any 
further, the elderly gentleman halted before 
a handsome residence with a shining door- 
plate, evidently quite new, and said, laying 
his hand upon the young man’s arm: — 

“ Come in and get dried. You got soaked 
through playing the hero, and you will take 
cold if you are not careful,” and he led the 
way into the house. As the professor passed 
the door, he saw the name “Anthony,” in 
gilt letters on a silver ground upon the door 
plate. The two entered a commodious room 
comfortably furnished and containing two or 
three large bookcases with glass doors. A 
glance in passing showed the professor that 
many of the books were of a religious nature, 
among which Bible commentaries figured 
largely. 

“ There, young man,” said his entertainer, 
pointing to a luxurious sofa in cosey prox- 
imity to the open grate fire, “ make yourself 
at home and dry your boots. Better take 
them off,” — tossing over a pair of slippers. 


52 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


The professor complied with thanks; but 
something in his looks caused his host to 
say: “I am better acquainted with you, 
perhaps, than you are with me. I am a 
new-comer in the neighborhood, hut I have 
been here long enough to know something 
about my neighbors. You pass here several 
times a day, and I have found out that your 
name is Parker, that you are a certain rising 
young professor in a seminary somewhere in 
the city, that you don’t drink, that you go 
to church, that you are good to your mother, 
and that you havo never been in love until 
the present time.” 

“The present time?” queried the pro- 
fessor. 

“Oh,” said the gentleman, “the patient 
does not necessarily know that he has con- 
tracted any particular disease, and a young 
man in love does not always know what is 
the matter with him. It takes diagnosis 
by a disinterested expert to find that out, at 
any rate, in the earlier stages of the disease. 
When I had it, if my memory is correct, the 
first symptom was a hallucination through 
which pretty red and blue ribbons seemed to 
he fluttering before my eyes at all times of 
the day and night. As the malady pro- 
gressed, a pair of brown eyes — ” 

“Her eyes are not brown, they are gray,” 
thought the professor. 

— “Occasionally peeped through the rib- 
bons. I paid no attention to the phenom- 
enon at first, thinking that perhaps I had 


AN EPISODE— AN OATH. 


53 


over-eaten, over-studied, or under-exercised, 
and was suffering the natural consequences. 
But when the eyes began to be accompanied 
by a pair of pearl pink ears, and a delicate 
little nose," and a bewitching little mouth, 
and a pretty dimpled chin, I began to think 
that something was wrong, but still I 
couldn’t tell what. By and by the face 
seemed to outgrow the ribbons, which faded 
away altogether and left that face smiling 
at me in such an entrancing manner all the 
while — no more sly peeps, mind you, but 
a steady uninterrupted gaze that never 
changed day or night — that I began to be 
quite uneasy. I asked an aged aunt what 
the matter was. She laughed at me and 
suggested that I take a dose of soothing 
syrup. I tried it without receiving any 
benefit. And now the face was not a face 
alone, but had developed about it a charm- 
ing figure ; and, terror of terrors ! it was not 
clothed in male attire, as one would have 
supposed that, in mercy, it might have been, 
but in the most fascinating female drapery ! 
How can I describe my feelings when, after 
making this discovery, I perceived that the 
apparition was making eyes at me ! They 
were not violent eyes; in fact they hardly 
winked at all, but there was something 
about them which made me feel that they 
had a design upon my peace of mind. 

did not, as yet, so much as suspect 
what my trouble was, and began to think 
seriously of going to an asylum. A pain had 


54 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


appeared in the region of the heart and 
attended to business all days of the week, 
Sundays included. Language cannot ex- 
press my suffering. At length 1 went to 
an old physician who had dealt with every 
form of human ailment, in hopes that he 
might, some time or other, have seen a sim- 
ilar case. He had. Before I had proceeded 
beyond the ribbons in relating how I was 
handled by my malady, he began to smile — 
for the life of me I couldn’t see why — and 
when I had finished he laughed outright, 
and said : 

Find the young lady whose face matches 
the face that haunts you, tell her what you 
have told me, and I will warrant she will 
tell you the complaint from which you are 
suffering.” The doctor was right, for she 
said, ^ Folly and foolishness!’ but I never 
paid the doctor his fee, although I was cured 
of that attack in just four seconds, and I 
have never had one since. If worst comes 
to worst, young man, I would advise you to 
try the same remedy, but you may not come 
off as luckily as I did. Here I am, a free 
man, a slave to nobody but my books. If 
it had not been for that girl’s penetrating 
wisdom — I never think of her without a 
blessing — there is no telling what foolishness 
I might have been guilty of.” 

‘‘That was a very strange experience,” 
remarked the young man; “I never heard 
of anything like it, to say nothing of never 
having such peculiar symptoms.” 


AN EPISODE— AN OATH. 


55 


“Are you quite sure?” quizzed the pro- 
prietor of the Anthony mansion, for such he 
evidently was. The professor looked serious 
and slightly changed color under the gaze 
of his inquisitor. 

“Are you sure?” repeated Mr. Anthony; 
“are there no ribbons fluttering in your 
brain, and no eyes, blue or brown or black 
or gray, peeping through them? Of course, 
the witness is not bound to answer if it will 
compromise him to do so ; but young people 
so often deceive themselves in this impor- 
tant matter, that I like to wake them to the 
truth. ” 

“Thank you,” said the professor, smiling. 
“I presume you are a bachelor.” 

“Yes,” was the response, “and always 
shall he now ” ; and in spite of the speaker’s 
previous words, there was a genuine sadness 
in the utterance of that “now.” “But God 
is good,” he continued, “and his fatherly 
smile is more to me than any earthly com- 
fort.” 

“Without it,” said the professor, “there 
is, in my opinion, no such thing as earthly 
comfort, and with it there is consolation 
even in the midst of the worst troubles.” 

“As true as Gospel,” said Mr. Anthony. 
“Stick to the faith that teaches you that, 
and your life will be a blessed one under 
any circumstances ; abandon it, and your 
life will be wretched, no matter whether or 
not the world may think and call it prosper- 
ous and happy. The world must learn to 


56 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


trust in ths futlisrhood. of Giod, or all prog- 
ress will be to no purpose. If every man, 
woman and child could be taught that one 
thing so eifectively that each life would be a 
testimony of sound belief in that one great 
truth, the millennium would be upon us in 
the twinkling of an eye. That is the one 
thing I have tried to teach in all the years 
of my ministry ; and I have been constantly 
struck with a fact which has been to me a 
conclusive argument for the truth of the 
doctrine, and that is that women, almost 
universally, believe in the fatherhood of 
God, a fact in which I see the hand of God 
working out the millennial epoch. Wives 
over their husbands and mothers over their 
children for the inculcation of that truth, 
will exert the subtle influence which God 
has given exclusively to women.” 

“And yet,” said the professor, “there is 
here and there a lovely woman who finds it 
impossible to believe in the fatherhood of 
God.” 

Mr. Anthony looked hard at the professor 
for a second, and then said : — 

“I have found such myself, and I have 
never been able to look upon them or think 
of them without pain. For it seems to me 
that a beautiful woman without deep relig- 
ious feeling is a beautiful flower without 
perfume.” 

“Might she not have the religious feel- 
ing without believing in the fatherhood of 
God?” 


AN EPISODE— AN OATH, 


57 


^^What would keep the feeling alive, if 
that were the case?” 

“Apparently nothing,” admitted the pro- 
fessor. Why was there a sudden, if some- 
what faint and ill-defined pain at the last 
speaker’s heart, as he realized the import of 
these sentences? 

“ If I were a young man expecting to take 
a wife,” said Mr. Anthony, “whether relig- 
iously inclined or not, that belief should be 
an indispensable qualification in her for that 
important relation to my happiness. With 
that faith, I should be sure to find in her 
patience, fortitude, long-suffering, and tem- 
perance. If she lacked any of the other 
virtues, they could very easily be made to 
grow in the soil thus generously prepared ; 
but lacking that, I should never hope to see 
grow any good that was not already there, 
nor to find there a great deal of good already 
grown.” 

Again the professor assented to the justice 
of Mr. Anthony’s remark. But why did that 
pain spread out and cause a faint sickness 
throughout his whole frame? And why did 
he feel so uneasy about what the pious old 
philosopher before him might say next? If 
his own purposes were all right, he ought not 
to be pained for such a cause or even made 
uneasy. Did this sentiment to which he 
was compelled to agree really run counter 
to some secret, half-formed purpose that had 
not yet fairly crystallized in his mind? The 
bare possibility of such a thing caused a 


68 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


reaction, and he persuaded himself that the 
sentiment, so bitter a moment before, was 
really quite delicious. 

“If my influence were equal to it,” con- 
tinued the philosopher, “I would persuade 
every young unmarried man to take this 
oath: As God is my witness, I never will 
marry a woman who has not perfect faith 
in the fatherhood of God.” 

“In my case,” said the professor, “your 
influence is great enough for that, and you 
may consider me as having taken the oath” ; 
and he felt a sort of dogged satisfaction in 
having said it. 


CHAPTER VI. 


A SHAPE IN THE DARK. 

Charles Goodrich, the doctor’s oldest 
child, was twenty-two years of age and a 
theological student. During the Easter re- 
cess he was informed of Mary’s apostasy. 
After considerable thought, he concluded 
that the only possible cause of this was igno- 
rance and he determined to destroy the castle 
of darkness by hold assault. Was he not 
well able to do so? Was he not full to the 
chin with “evidences,” “arguments,” and 
“demonstrations,” by various authors? And 
would not a liberal use of this lore produce 
far more than the effulgence necessary to 
re-illumine the young lady’s eclipsed mind? 
Why should not a theological student of two 
years’ growth cast in the shade all sceptical 
cabbage? And why should it ever cross his 
complacent brain that somebody else might 
have been agitated by a thought or two, as 
well as he, and that possibly there had been 
results from such agitation that were at 
least worthy of a passing glance, even by 
his theological highness? 

Mary cordially received her old playmate, 
and for a time conversation ran lightly on 


60 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


ordinary topics ; for Charles seemed to hesi- 
tate about approaching the object of his call 
too abruptly, and to prefer to find the adver- 
sary entirely off guard, and then, with all 
his terrible enginery in motion at once, to 
rout him at one charge. His opnortunity 
came, or at any rate he thought it did. 
The conversation turned upon recent books, 
and Charles inquired if Mary had read Ben 
Hur. 

“Yes,” she replied, “and almost wish I 
had not.” 

“Why?” exclaimed Charles. “I think it 
a most remarkable production.” 

“So do I,” said Mary; “but still I never 
think of it without pain.” 

“I am sure I can’t understand that feel- 
ing,” said Charles, with what was intended 
for a piercing look at Mary’s earnest face. 

“Were you not pained with the procession 
to Calvary and the agony of Christ? Didn’t 
his suffering seem too vividly human to 
leave any impression of the divinity of the 
sufferer?” 

“No, indeed, ’’said Charles. “Were rocks 
eA'^er rent, and the earth shaken, and the sun 
hidden at the death of a human being?” 

Mary seemed to apprehend the spirit in 
which her interrogator spoke and to depre- 
cate it ; for her own manner became more 
quiet if possible than before. 

“ Rocks have been rent, the earth shaken, 
and the sun hidden many, many times,” she 
said; “and human beings have been dying 


A SHAPE IN THE DARK. 


61 


every second of every moment for thousands 
of years.” 

Charles seemed at a loss to construe this 
remark ; but it sounded like an argument ; 
he therefore said: — 

“But on this occasion it was the plain 
manifestation of divine displeasure at the 
death of the Son of God.” 

Mary seemed lost in reflection a moment, 
and then said : — 

“ I do not recall the passage of Scripture 
that says so, though very likely my memory 
is at fault.” 

“It doesn’t need any particular passage 
to make that plain,” said Charles. “What 
other reason could there have been for an 
earthquake and an eclipse to be coincident at 
that moment?” 

“I am sure I don’t know,” said Mary, 
“unless” — with hesitation — “for the reason 
that geologists and astronomers give.” 

Charles gave Mary another one of his 
piercing glances, as if to see through the 
quiet exterior and detect the heart in full 
rebellion against all truth. But Mary 
seemed lost in her own thoughts, and never 
was the countenance of an infant more placid 
and ingenuous ; and Charles’s theory of igno- 
rance was yet unbroken. 

“As I said before,” said Mary, after a 
brief silence, “Ben Hur pained me. It is 
wonderfully realistic and a credit to the 
imagination of the writer ; but it has left a 
sting with me. The struggle under the 


62 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


weight of the great cross ; the aid offered 
by a pitying witness; the desertion of the 
Galilean peasants; the agony of the cruci- 
fixion, and, at last, the death of a common 
malefactor, all have impressed the humanity 
of the sufferer upon my mind but have 
extinguished his divinity, at any rate in that 
connection.” 

trust,” said Charles impressively,^^ that 
none of us will imitate those Galilean peas- 
ants and forsake our Lord.” 

Mary seemed oblivious to the missionary’s 
last remark and to be determined to remain 
a poor, lost heathen. At least she kept on 
in the same vein as before : — 

I think that all human attempts to rep- 
resent God, either by language, by color, or 
by form, have the same deplorable effect. 
I once saw Baron Munkacsy’s great picture, 
Christ before Pilate, and never shall recover 
from the effect it had upon me. The figure 
of Christ was a masterpiece, but, after all, 
to portray divinity with bound hands de- 
grades the conception. The only picture of 
Christ I have ever seen, which does not seem 
to degrade him, is one that hangs in my 
room. It is a picture of Christ blessing little 
children, and, in that, divinity does seem to 
appear in the benignity of his expression.” 

Had Charles been near enough to the 
speaker, he could have seen her eyes moisten 
as she uttered this last sentence. He Avas, 
on the whole, at a sore loss to account for 
the case before him. 


A SHAPE IN THE DARK. 


63 


There was hardly the ignorance he had 
expected to find, really not enough to 
account for the startling phenomenon of 
unbelief ; and as for rebellion or obstinacy, 
well, you could as readily see it expressed in 
the petals of an exquisite rose as in the 
expression of Mary’s face. If what he saw 
there was rebellion, then Charles mentally 
admitted that rebellion was very charming 
indeed. Nevertheless, it was his mission to 
impress, and not himself to be impressed 
and sold to the tempter in this way ; and an 
uneasy sensation stole over the young mis- 
sionary as he contemplated the specimen of 
heathenism before him and realized how 
little progress he was making as a darkness 
dissipator. He resolved to force the fight- 
ing ; and yet there was enough of true chiv- 
alry pricking within him to forbid a broad 
and possibly offensive accusation of infidelity 
against the inoffensive and, to be frank, 
the altogether bewitching enemy. Yet he 
at length hardened himself sufiiciently to say ; 

“ Of course, if one believes in the divinity 
of Christ, his belief would not be weakened 
by the failure of literature or art adequately 
to portray it.” 

“ I am not so sure of that, ” said Mary ; “ it 
might be so, if people were guided entirely 
by reason; but they are instead creatures 
of impressions and habits. I think that a 
believing person of a particular tempera- 
ment might be made a confirmed unbeliever 
by just being surrounded with pictures that, 


64 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


whether or not he was conscious of it, im- 
pressed him with the humanity of that which 
should bear the attributes of divinity.” 

“ Did you ever know of such a case?” said 
Charles, apparently in desperation. Again 
his victim eluded this wicked thrust, and 
said serenely; — 

“As we Yankees sometimes do, I will 
answer that question by asking another. 
Were you never conscious of a gradual 
change in sentiment, as the result of asso- 
ciation?” 

“Never!” said Charles recklessly, 

“ Did you never hear how very sensitive 
people, by familiarity with dead bodies, as 
upon a battle-field, become so accustomed to 
the sight of them that the presence of so 
many logs would affect them about as 
deeply?” 

“Yes,” said Charles slowly, “I have 
heard of that,” and he wondered if he had 
given away his case. 

“ And have you never herad of people be- 
coming fond of intoxicating liquors, although 
they loathed them at first?” 

“Yes,” admitted Charles. 

“And,” resumed Mary, “I have heard my 
father say it was so with his first attempt to 
use tobacco, as a boy ; but he afterwards 
became so fond of it that it took years to 
break it off. So, while perhaps the physical 
and spiritual sensibilities are too distantly 
related to make this kind of reasoning con- 
clusive — ” 


A SHAPE IN THE DARK. 


65 


“That’s what I think,” said Charles. 

“ — Yet, ” continued Mary, “ I think it illus- 
trates very well how a change of sentiment 
might take place. I have heard my father 
say it was so in the case of profanity. When 
he first employed gangs of rough men upon 
his warves, he could not move amongst* 
them without overhearing profanity and 
coarse language not intended for his ears; 
but now, though he says he is sure there 
has been no change among his men, he 
rarely ever notices it. I do not mean to say 
that this is exactly parallel with the case of 
becoming an unbeliever through association 
with attempted portrayals of divinity; but 
I think it goes as far as the point where the 
soil is ready for the seed of unbelief.” 

Charles had come to the conclusion that, 
to destroy the enemy’s fortifications at all, 
it would be prudent to withdraw his forces 
for the present and mature some regular 
plan of attack. Of course he might make 
an open breach at this moment and put the 
question squarely, “ Are you or are you not 
a believer ?” But a sense of fitness restrained 
him. His gentle antagonist had given him 
no adequate provocation; and, upon the 
whole, he thought it would be about as 
brave a thing to throw a stone at a pretty 
bird in full song as to hurl such a missile 
at Mary. He was deliberating upon just 
what step to take next when his conqueror, 
after a moment spent in deep thought, 
resumed : — 

6 


66 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


“ I was perhaps a little hasty in admitting 
that the two cases were not substantially 
the same — the case of profane words and the 
case of profane pictures. In both, the sen- 
sibilities gradually become deadened and 
cause no further pain. The difference be- 
’ tween what is and what ought to he makes 
no impression ; and it seems to me that it is 
about the same thing as swallowing up what 
ought to he with what is. So that, if what 
is, as in the picture of the Saviour, amounts 
only to face and form and apparel, it will 
hide completely the divine which ought to 
be in every conception of him. It is impos- 
sible that human art should succeed in 
portraying the divine, and one who ascribes 
to the Saviour only the qualities which appear 
in the picture, is practically an unbeliever, 
since Christ was more than human.” 

Charles was more puzzled than ever. If 
this was unbelief, it was of a strange sort, 
compared with the vulgar kind which he had 
seen among rollicking students, who loved 
beer and loud songs and Sunday merry- 
makings. It was different, too, from the 
unbelief of ignorance. In fact, Charles felt 
about as a naturalist might feel who, in ex- 
ploring some new country, should come 
across a strange specimen representing not 
a new species merely, but a brand-new 
genus. It might not be wise to handle it 
without mittens or other extra precautions ; 
for the creature might have some new and 
strange sting. 


A SHAPE IN THE DARK. 


67 


“I think myself,” said Charles, after quite 
an interval, “ that it would he much better 
not to attempt the representation of the 
human side of Christ, rather than to risk the 
degradation of the divine.” 

“So I have thought,” said Mary, “and 
yet” — with a faint tremor of voice — “the 
associations of the picture in my room are 
such that I would not part with it for any 
consideration. Whether it is because the 
picture itself, in some mysterious way, has 
caught the air of divinity, or whether my 
imagination, stimulated by its associations, 
has made it more than any other to me, 
I do not know. I cannot think that that 
picture belittles the divine character of the 
Saviour.” 

“I think,” said Charles, rising, “that we 
are in harmony on the point of the pictures. 
I hoped to pick a quarrel with you some- 
how or other, as I am just in the mood to 
quarrel with somebody; hut you don’t seem 
to give me any encouragement in that direc- 
tion, and I suppose I must look for somebody 
else to annihilate.” 

“Why,” said Mary, “one would hardly 
have thought you a person of such dangerous 
proclivities. You did not use to be so. Do 
they give lessons in practical cannibalism at 
theological seminaries?” 

“Yes; and I am instructed to do credit to 
my tutelage during this recess. I hope I 
shall see you at the sociable to-morrow even- 
ing, Mary.” 


68 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


“I am at present expecting to be there,” 
was the reply. 

Our theological knight thus withdrew from 
the conflict feeling no worse for the en- 
counter, thanks to the gentle and merciful 
nature of his antagonist. But upon return- 
ing home he was closely questioned and 
cross-questioned by his mother as to the 
result of the interview; and, upon fi nding 
her son much less confidential than when he 
rode afield with lance in rest, she at length 
lost patience and exclaimed : — 

“You and your father both seem to be at 
the mercy of that snip of a girl ! I am sure 
I see nothing about her above the ordinary, 
and I should be ashamed, if I were a man, 
to be so worsted by a child like her — one of 
the softer sex, too ” — with a sneer. 

“Mother,” said Charles, respectfully but 
firmly, “I am sure you cannot know Mary 
Temple very well — ” 

“ Know her ! I have known her ever since 
she was born,” said the lady. “And to 
think that that little upstart of a thing 
should get the best of two theologians like 
you and your father! And I verily believe 
she has taken the wind all out of Professor 
Parker’s sails too, from what I hear.” 

Professor Parker’s sails, too! A sudden 
pang shot through the devoted breast of 
Charles Goodrich. He did not pretend to 
know why; but the pang made no allow- 
ance for youth and inexperience, and went 
straight to the bull’s-eye all the same. The 


A SHAPE IN THE DARK. 


69 


victim choked a little and flew a scarlet tell- 
tale in each cheek. 

“Mother,” he said, “do have mercy upon 
us poor men, if you will have none upon 
Mary — though it’s my opinion she does not 
need a great deal. For really it is a great 
deal bigger undertaking to bring that ‘snip 
of a girl’ to your way of thinking than you 
imagine. If you should try it once, you 
would have some sympathy for us. I am 
quite willing to rent my privilege in that 
direction for a period of ninety-nine years at 
an exceedingly low price. Whatever Mary 
was once, she is no longer a ‘snip of a girl,’ 
and she is no more an ‘upstart’ than my 
pretty sister Ida. I do hope ” — as he twined 
an arm coaxingly around his mother’s neck — 
“you will not say or do anything to hurt her 
feelings and to prevent her coming here with 
the rest of our church people on social occa- 
sions. I am sure she is an ornament in 
anybody’s house, and, after this morning’s 
talk with her, I shall always feel especially 
honored if she favors us with her company.” 

All show of vexation immediately vanished 
from Mrs. Goodrich’s countenance. Putting 
her hand under her son’s chin, she turned 
his face towards the light and looked with a 
quizzical expression into his eyes. The 
young man blushed and smiled. The 
mother softly kissed him and said ; — 

“You may count on your mother always, 
my son.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

A SKIRMISH. 

The sociable to which Charles Goodrich 
alluded was duly held and duly honored by a 
large number of the good doctor’s flock. It 
was a gathering which well illustrated the 
fact that human nature is the same every- 
where and always. There were more young 
than old present, but the middle-aged dele- 
gation was also large, and there were quite 
a number present who were well down the 
shady side of life. One of these latter was 
an estimable person, familiarly known as 
Aunt Judy,” though she was nobody’s real 
aunt. Her real name was Julia Tarbox, a 
maiden lady of seventy. She called a spade 
a spade, and had a good deal of contempt for 
those who did not. Her dress was as out- 
spoken as her opinions. The most striking 
feature of her toilet was a tall, old-fashioned, 
tortoise-shell comb, which she never ap- 
peared without, and which seemed to be stuck 
perpendicularly into the crown of her head ; 
though this effect was probably given by 
some female legerdemain and therefore 
misleading. 

The spiritual aspect of this lady’s nature 


A SKIRMISH. 


71 


was fully as peculiar as the material aspect. 
If she had landed with the first boat-load of 
Puritans, she could not have been more rigid 
in her religious opinions. Such a thing as 
“reconciling” any part of the Bible with 
human science never entered her head. If 
science got in the way of the Bible, she 
merely said, “Science, clear the track, or 
you’ll get hurt.” Some people take a great 
deal of pride in parading their fidelity to the 
very letter of the Bible. They avail them- 
selves of every opportunity to say loudly 
that they believe in the inspiration of every 
word in the Bible from cover to cover ; prob- 
ably they also believe in the inspiration of 
the cover, and would say so on proper prov- 
ocation. But Aunt Judy was so simple and 
perfect in her belief that it never occurred to 
her that it was necessary to say that she be- 
lieved the Bible. Of course she believed it, 
and any one who did not was simply given 
over to the Evil One ; that was all there was 
to it, and if Aunt Judy had had her way 
such people would have been sent to the 
penitentiary along with all the other crimi- 
nals. 

But in spite of her angularity at some 
points. Aunt Judy was sufficiently round at 
others to make it all up with some to spare. 
Her absence from any gathering of the 
church people, young or old, was considered 
a misfortune. For, although she never tol- 
erated dancing or card-playing in her 
presence, and would have left any house in 


72 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


unquenchable indignation where such things 
were allowed, she nevertheless carried under 
her withered exterior a heart so young that 
she was the life of all gatherings that she 
patronized. There was no old-fashioned and 
perfectly proper game that she did not know 
all about ; and, as a good cook can make 
a tempting dish from ingredients which, 
mixed by other hands, might be anything 
but palatable, so Aunt Judy infused into 
these simple games so much of the spice of 
her own spirits that they never failed to 
please. 

Besides Aunt Judy, there were other char- 
acters present who lent interest of a certain 
kind to the occasion. There was Mrs. Pike, 
with her daughter Nellie, who recited ; and 
Mrs. Proutt, with her daughter Maggie, 
who sang. Nellie was dumpy and awk- 
ward; Maggie was spare and angular. 
Each had an admirable conceit of herself, 
but none at all compared with the conceit 
her mother had for her. The voice of one 
was wheezy; that of the other rasping. 
Neither had the faintest idea of expression ; 
and in gesture, both resembled jumping- 
jacks worked by fitful strings rather than 
animate creatures. Nobody but Nellie's 
mother could see why that girl was imposed 
upon people as a recitationist ; and nobody but 
Maggie’s mother could see why that young 
lady should not be arrested for breach of the 
peace whenever she inflicted her voice upon 
her fellow-creatures. Mrs. Pike often said 


A SKIRMISH. 


73 


to her confidential friends, ^^Why in the 
world does not Mrs. Proutt tell Maggie she 
has no voice?” And Mrs. Proutt as often 
exclaimed to her confidential friends, Why 
don’t Mrs. Pike keep Nellie from making 
such a painful show of herself?” And yet 
Dr. Goodrich’s church never had an enter- 
tainment at which both of these young ladies 
did not appear upon the programme, and no 
chance was ever kind enough to keep either 
at home upon the fateful night. What 
grudge the Fates had against the devoted 
people of Dr. Goodrich’s congregation was 
never ascertained, but until Nellie and 
Maggie were both comfortably married and 
were themselves mothers of incipient recita- 
tionists and prima donnas, the calamity 
never abated. 

Upon the present occasion, Nellie and 
Maggie, with malice aforethought, had each 
perpetrated her regulation malignity, and 
the guests were disposing themselves to en- 
joy the balance of the evening in their own 
way, when the attention of everybody was 
attracted to a part of the room where the 
impressive tones of Aunt Judy were heard 
in earnest exhortation. It seems that, while 
the company were constructively listening 
to the efforts of Nellie and Maggie, Ida 
Goodrich had found herself in the neighbor- 
hood of Aunt Judy, and had engaged her in 
a conversation, during which the old lady 
had exclaimed : — 

‘^Did you ever see such a purty creeter as 


74 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


that Mary Temple is gittin’ to be ! I didn’t 
use to think she was very handsome, but do 
look at her this evenin’ ! Peaches is no- 
where alongside o’them cheeks, and her neck 
and hands is like lilies full blown ! 

“She is pretty,” said Ida; “but don’t you 
think that personal beauty amounts to very 
little unless there is a beautiful spirit back 
of it?” 

“ Law ! of course I do ; but it seems to me 
that sech a face as her’n must have a purty 
sperit hack on’t,” said Aunt Judy. 

“Yes,” said Ida, “it would seem so.” 

“ Seem so ! you don’t mean to say taint so, 
do ye?” 

“No; I wont say that exactly.” 

“Well, what’s the use o’ yer thinkin’ it, 
then?” 

“I can’t help my thoughts.” 

“ But you haint no right to think what 
aint so.” 

“But,” very softly, “haven’t I a right to 
think what is so?” 

“Mebbe so, if ’taint had; hut,” sternly, 
“you haint no right to make people think 
Mary Temple is had without telling why.” 

Ida winced a little at this thrust, but re- 
plied without irritation : 

“I’m not afraid to tell why I think Mary 
Temple’s heart is not as pretty as her face, 
but I don’t say she is bad, that is, wicked, 
like people who steal and do such things.” 

“I don’t believe you ever see Mary 
Temple’s heart. The glimpses I’ve ketched 


A SKIRMISH. 


75 


on’t was jest as refreshin’s the sight o’ her 
purty face. There aint nothin’ too much for 
her to do for the poor an’ sufferin’ ; and she 
aint a bit proud nor stuck up, with all her 
good looks, and good relation, and good pros- 
pecks; an’ she keeps her sweet mouth shet 
’s tight ’s a pearl oyster about the good 
things she does. I don’t believe there is no 
truer Christian gal in this hull city.” 

“Do you think” — very smoothly — “that 
one can be a good Christian without believ- 
ing in Christ?” 

“No, o’ course not. Be ye crazy?” 

“ Then how can Mary Temple he a Chris- 
tian?” 

“ Because she is a believer.” 

“You are mistaken. Aunt Judy,” gently, 
with a sad shake of the head and voice 
lowered to a faint whisper; “Mary does not 
believe in Christ.” 

“ What in the world do ye mean by -tellin’ 
sech stuff? You know ’taint true.” 

Ida looked hurt at this reflection upon her 
veracity, and said quietly as she rose and 
moved away: — 

“I leave that for Mary to settle.” 

Aunt Judy did not even glance at the re- 
tiring Ida, but instantly rose and sought the 
part of the room where Mary and Professor 
Parker were indulging in a Mte-d-tSte. 
With an anxious countenance, she seated 
herself by Mary’s side and softly pressed 
one of her hands. Mary returned the 
pressure, and when she had finished the 


76 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


remark she was addressing to the professor, 
said : — 

“This is very kind of you, Auntie; but 
how can the boys and girls spare you to 
come and make love to me?” Aunt Judy 
put her own construction upon these words, 
and rose. 

“P’raps I’m intrudin’,” she remarked, 
“ and you’d ruther summun else’d make love 
to you,” with a sly glance at Professor 
Parker. 

Mary blushed and hastened to say : — 

“You are not intruding at all. Auntie.” 
But the old lady noticed that Mary did not 
disavow the second part of her suggestion, 
and so she said : — 

“ I won’t disturb you two but a minit. 
Please don’t go, perfesser; I’d ruther you’d 
har what I hev got to say.” 

For the professor was about to withdraw 
from what he thought might be indelicate 
proximity to confidence. 

“I’d ruther you’d stay,” repeated the old 
lady ; “I guess it consarns you as much as it 
does anybody.” 

Both Mary and the professor looked with 
surprise at the evidently troubled face of the 
speaker, and waited for her next words. 
She closed her eyes a second, as if in silent 
prayer, and then went on : — 

“I jest heerd somethin’ that’ll keep these 
old eyes from shettin’ this hull blessed night, 
unless I’m sot right about it. I never heerd 
nothin’ more terrible in my life, sence Je- 


A SKIRMISH. 


77 


rvishie’s boy was ketched stealin’ Squire 
Simpkin’s honey and was sent to jail.” 

The two listeners looked more surprised 
than ever. 

“ I never loved the boy no less,” continued 
Aunt Judy, “an’ I did what I could to make 
him repent and to hev him pardoned ; but it 
was an awful crime jest the same, an’ he 
was desarvin’ of all he got an’ more too. 
And I don’t suppose, Mary Temple, I shall 
love you no less, an’ I shall pray for you a 
sight more, if what they say about you is 
true.” 

The peach-bloom on Mary’s cheek turned 
to an ashen hue ; her gaze was fixed upon 
the speaker with an expression of fearful 
interest ; but she gave no sign of guilt ; and, 
as the professor looked from the wrinkled 
apparition before him to the ingenuous radi- 
ance of those lovely eyes, could he be blamed 
for making a mental vow that the girl should 
have one friend at least who would never 
believe any wrong of her, however terrible 
the charge or formidable the proof ? 

“ What is the crime, and who the accuser?” 
said Mary, looking steadily at Aunt Judy. 

The latter’s voice trembled and she seemed 
to answer with great difficulty. 

“They do say you’re an onbeliever; is it 
so.?” 

Great relief manifested itself upon the 
professor’s face and a faint smile played at 
the corners of his mouth. It was different 
with Mary. She seemed scarcely relieved 


78 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


by the denouement, and did not immediately 
answer. Her hesitation was sufficient to 
suggest to Aunt Judy the possible truth of 
Ida’s charge; and, under the suffocating 
suspense, thus almost intolerably increased, 
the old lady repeated, with something like a 
sob in her voice : — 

“Oh, Mary, is it so?” 

The young lady seemed deeply touched at 
Aunt Judy’s evident distress, and her hesi- 
tation continued. An affirmative answer 
would grievously wound as true a friend as 
ever girl had; yet a negative answer was 
out of the question. Although her doubt 
did not amount to unbelief in some particu- 
lars, in others it did; and while she could 
not justly be called broadly an unbeliever, 
neither was she an unqualified believer. If 
she repudiated unbelief. Aunt Judy would 
consider that an affirmation of belief, and 
this would be misleading. Under these 
thoughts, Mary hesitated so long that Aunt 
Judy, for the third time, besought an 
answer. 

“Oh, Mary!” she pleaded, “do say ’taint 
so,” — at the same time taking Mary’s hand 
in both her own and squeezing it fervently. 
The young lady returned the pressure and 
said : — 

“Dear Auntie, that is a very hard ques- 
tion to answer. I wish I might say ‘no’ ; but 
if I cannot say ‘no, ’ neither can I truthfully 
say ‘yes ’.” 

“Oh Mary!” groaned the old lady, “has 


A SKIRMISH. 


79 


Satan really tangled his net around your 
sweet soul? That’s jest the way it all ’gins. 
Jerushie’s boy went jest the same. He ’gun 
by not knowin’ whether it was so or not, 
and ended in prison.” 

Mary smiled, apparently in spite of her- 
self. But her smile was brief, and the pair 
of gray eyes she turned upon Aunt Judy 
was very serious indeed. 

“ Do you think there is any danger of my 
going to jail. Aunt Judy, because I obey my 
conscience?” she said. 

“ Obey your conscience, child !” sighed the 
venerable saint, “that’s Satan’s trick to 
ketch you. He’s making you think your 
nat’ral depravity is conscience. That’s an 
old, old trick o’ his’n. Don’t look so hurt, 
dear. I don’t mean you’re any wuss than 
the best on us ; but we all sinned in Adam, 
and it’s only the grace of our dear Lord that 
makes any on us better ’n thieves an’ mur- 
derers; an’ it allers makes me tremble for 
any young soul that cuts the telegraph wire 
’twixt itself an’ him, and ’gins to doubt 
and onbelieve in his goodness.” 

It was here that Aunt Judy’s earnestness 
drew the attention of the company and 
caused many to join our trio. Ida did not 
follow the rest of the company to the scene 
of conflict, but watched matters from a 
distance. 

When Professor Parker perceived Aunt 
Judy’s increasing audience, he placed him- 
self in the breach something as follows : — 


80 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


“ But you know, Auntie, there are a great 
many points concerning our religion which 
may he the subject of honest doubt, points 
that do not involve a disbelief in the goodness 
of God and his moral government over man- 
kind.” 

“None o’ them pints is wuth doubtin’, if 
a body believes in his goodness an’ strength.” 

“Nevertheless,” said the professor, “some 
of the most moral and most devout people in 
the church are greatly in doubt as to the 
verbal inspiration of the Bible.” 

“Why, Perfessor Parker,” exclaimed our 
saint, with a look of unutterable horror, 
“who ever heerd o’ sech a thing! I don’t 
b’lieve it’s nothin’ but the fust beginnin’s of 
b’lievin’ in no God at all, to b’lieve his holy 
prophets wa’n’t inspired.” 

“But, granting that the prophets were 
inspired, these people do not believe that all 
the copyists and translators since their time 
have been inspired,” said the professor. 

“That’s only another o’ Satan’s snares,” 
said Aunt Judy. “There aint no use o’ 
tellin’ me that God would let poor humans 
spile what he had took the pains of inspirin’ 
people to say.” 

“That’s what I think,” said Mrs. Pike. 

“And I too,” said Mrs. Proutt. 

“But these people do not believe that the 
inspired work of the prophets has been 
spoiled,” said the professor. 

“ Yet, ” interposed Charles Goodrich, “ they 
must be aware that the moment doubt is 


A SKIRMISH. 


81 


thrown upon the verbatim et literatim inspir- 
ation of the Bible, all sorts of heresies may 
claim its authority. If any passage at all 
means something different from what it says, 
because of error in translation, sceptics and 
false prophets may assail its authority in 
every case and say that the original author- 
izes no such construction; or, granting the 
correctness of the original translation, they 
may claim error in copying from that trans- 
lation to the point of its retranslation into 
our language. I think the safest way is to 
stick to the literal inspiration of the Bible. 
There is sufficient evidence to prove its 
inspiration to candid minds. Such a course 
blocks the way of scepticism and infidelity, 
and makes people who set up their own opin- 
ions fly straight in the face of God’s inspired 
word and take the penalty.” 

“Any way,” said Aunt Judy, “I don’t see 
how nobody can doubt nothin’ between the 
two covers of thd Bible. I should think 
they’d feel it was true to the very letter. I 
alters do. I never read a line of God’s word 
without feelin’ it tremblin’ all through me 
and carryin’ its sarchin’ truth straight into 
my soul. An’ I know I shouldn’t feel that 
way, if I thought that them words was 
sayin’ what mebbe God had never said.” 

Here the old lady’s sober gaze rested once 
more on Mary’s face, and the professor has- 
tened to say : — 

“Nevertheless, God could have inspired 
the general purpose of the Bible, leaving the 
6 


82 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


language to the peculiar gift of the prophet 
he employed. This would leave room for 
figures of speech in which imagination could 
speak to imagination, rather than intellect 
to intellect, the rule and the square being 
thrown away and the lyre substituted for 
the time being; exact measurements might 
be disregarded, hut the general truth would 
be well conveyed.” 

“Perfessor Parker,” said Aunt Judy sol- 
emnly, as if a sudden thought had struck 
her, “is that what you b’lieve yourself? ” 

“ Certainly it is, ” said he ; “ but while that 
is my belief and the light in which I believe 
the Bible inspired, I am not quarrelling with 
literal inspirationists, and would not shake 
their belief ; but I would caution them 
against confounding mere narration and 
description with divine command, oj' even 
sanction.” 

“But that’s not after all what I was 
wantin’ to know,” said Aunt Judy, again 
addressing herself to Mary. “ I b’lieve all 
this quibblin’ about the inspiration of the 
Bible comes from the Evil One.” 

“So do I,” said Mrs. Pike. 

“And I too,” said Mrs. Proutt. 

“And,” continued Aunt Judy, “when 
people come to questionin’ about the Sav- 
iour, it seems like the awfullest wickedness 
that ever was,” and her eyes rested half 
reproachfully, half sorrowfully upon Mary. 

“Yet,” said the professor quickly, “the 
same might be said about that as about 


A SKIRMISH. 


83 


inspiration. Error might get into the nar- 
rative, because of human weakness; hut a 
person admitting the possibility of such a 
thing might still believe in the purpose for 
which the Lord came, and love and revere 
the Lord himself.” 

Whether Charles Goodrich’s views would 
have been modified by the pleasant proxim- 
ity to Mary which the professor was enjoy- 
ing, it is hard to say ; but from the cold 
distance which he at the moment held he 
delivered himself of this opinion : — 

“ Of course, professor, very few minds are 
at all alike and we should not be intolerant 
of opinions differing from our own ; but it 
seems to me that nobody has a right to any 
opinion which differs from God’s opinion; 
and it was God’s opinion that the human 
race had need of enlightenment by means of 
his holy prophets and inspired writers. 
Therefore it is to me inconceivable that he 
should have permitted those whom he hon- 
ored with his high commission to be them- 
selves the cause of error.” 

“ But the main purpose of the Scripture is 
never lost to view,” said the professor, “and 
the effect resulting from the whole favors 
that purpose.” 

“That might be so,” said Charles, “hut 
that general effect is felt only when the Bible 
is looked at as a whole, and it is not as a 
whole, but in its details, that the daily 
reader is acquainted with the Bible ; so that, 
if there is error at every step as these liberal- 


84 


DOUBTING CASTLE, 


ists admit there may be, the reader would be 
as likely as not to absorb as much error as 
truth at one reading, and the result would 
be dangerous if not disastrous. For what 
an amount of harm might follow a single 
misconstruction or misinterpretation, if it 
formed the basis of important and far-reach- 
ing action!” 

There can be no doubt that the Bible, in 
the hands of one of disordered mind, or in the 
hands of one densely and grossly ignorant, 
is a dangerous thing,” said the professor, 
^‘as, for instance, in the case of that mis- 
guided wretch who, a short time ago, sacri- 
ficed his only child, in fancied imitation of 
Abraham. But people of sound and enlight- 
ened minds are never so misled. They do 
not mistake the mere description of a crime 
or the narration of the deeds of a bad man 
as a sanction of such deeds ; nor as a com- 
mand to go and do likewise.” 

agree with you entirely on that point,” 
said Charles ; and the professor continued : — 

‘^Nor do they forget the fact that the act- 
ual commands of God to the Israelites are 
not to be regarded as binding upon this age 
of the world, except so far as they relate to 
morals. We cannot go up out of the land of 
Egypt led by Moses, as the Israelites did, 
and if we don’t, we are not disobeying God. 
And so error of translator or copyist in the 
narrative of those old events cannot affect 
our conduct.” 

^^But it makes a sight o’ difference with 


A SKIRMISH. 


85 


US what we think, if we don’t do,” said 
Aunt Judy. “If we keep on thinking one 
way long enough, we’ll be sure bime by to 
do jest that way.” 

“That’s so,” murmured several voices. 

“ As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he,” 
said Charles. 

“ It seems to me, professor, that even now 
we can obey God’s command to go up out of 
the land of Egypt,” said Mrs. Goodrich. 
“We are in the Egypt of sin and truly in a 
house of bondage ; and if we hut listen to 
his voice and follow tl|^ leadings of his ser- 
vants in this world, we shall find the land of 
Canaan, though we first wander long in the 
wilderness. I think there is scarcely a com- 
mand in the Bible given to the Jews of old 
that, if we but look for its spiritual teach- 
ing, cannot, nay, ought not, even at the pres- 
ent time, to he obeyed almost to the letter.” 

“ That may he very well for highly spirit- 
ual people,” said the professor; “but do you 
not think, Mrs. Goodrich, that much dam- 
age is done by the attempt to spiritualize 
eyerything in the Bible, instead of taking 
it literally, with the exception of evident 
errors? ” 

“I hardly see how, ’’said Mrs. Goodrich. 

“ My observation has taught me,” resumed 
the professor, “ that among religious people, 
there are two great general classes bordering 
upon each other; and along their line of 
juncture it is almost impossible to distin- 
guish the individuals of one class from those 


86 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


of the other, so nearly are they alike. But 
from the joining line outward, the individ- 
uals in each class become more distinct in 
the characteristics which separate them from 
the other class, until those at the points most 
remote from each other are so little alike that 
it is hard to see how they can ever be in 
harmony, even with regard to the cardinal 
points of religion. The individuals of one of 
these classes are the spiritualizers, naturally 
so, because their natures are essentially spir- 
itual ; those of the other class are the literal- 
ists, because their natures are essentially 
practical. Now with regard to those near 
the line of juncture, which I mentioned, the 
individuals of one class hardly differ enough 
from those of the other class to make any 
discord if they belong to the same organiza- 
tion. But with regard to those remote from 
the line of juncture, the contrary is true: 
they differ so greatly that, unless the greatest 
forbearance is observed between them, it is 
impossible for them to remain in the same 
organization. Yet I do not think that either 
of these two classes can justly call the other 
unorthodox or unchristian. That is my rea- 
son for disapproving the method of spiritual- 
ization carried to an extreme ; it disturbs the 
faith of literalists. But on the other extreme 
literalism is just as offensive to the spiritual- 
izer. I think the middle ground between the 
two is the safe one. Let any one stand 
there and, in the light of all the facts, inter- 
pret the Bible, and he cannot go wrong.” 


A SKIRMISH. 


87 


“Don’t you think, professor, that every 
one may belong to the spiritual class, if he 
but tries to do so? ” said Mrs. Goodrich. 

“By no means,” said the professor. “I 
am convinced that these two classes are as 
strongly individualized as any two species of 
living creatures known. Perhaps an indi- 
vidual belonging very near the line of junc- 
ture, through intense pressure from without, 
might at length be made to appear as if it 
belonged to the class on the opposite side of 
the line, hut it would he a very indifferent 
representative of its adopted class at best.” 

“Why, professor,” said Josie Turner, 
“you speak of us Christians as if we were 
members of two different species of animals, 
and you were pointing at our stuffed skins 
mounted in a museum.” 

“ The best way to account for the actions 
of some so-called Christians is to assume 
their kinship to some of the lower animals,” 
said the professor, after the laughter pro- 
voked by Josie’s remark had subsided. 
“ There are many cat-and-dog congregations, 
you know ; and many church committees are 
composed of monkeys and parrots.” 

“That’s so,” said several voices. 

“But to return to these two classes,” said 
the professor ; “it is those who occupy the 
extremes that are liable to he farthest wrong 
in their opinions and hence in their actions. 
Leave the interpretation of the Scripture to 
the extremely spiritual man, and he will 
make so many excursions into the spiritual 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


realms and bring back so many grotesque 
curiosities that he will bewilder and mystify 
the less spiritual brother, or even fill him 
with scepticism. But on the other hand, 
the extremely practical man, left to the 
same task, will present a cold and uninter- 
esting version. Both of these elements are 
good in themselves ; but harm always comes 
from an attempt on the part of one class to 
abolish or absorb the individuality of the 
other. It leads to scepticism, infidelity, and 
even atheism; while there is no inherent 
reason why both should not live harmoni- 
ously in the same church organization, if 
each would but cultivate to a more vigorous 
life that Christian grace which ‘stiff ere th 
long and is kind. ’ It is just as impossible 
for people to think alike as it is for them to 
grow to the same height physically. That 
does not deny the existence of a free will in 
the matter,” the professor hastened to say, 
as if prompted thereto by the dubious looks 
of several of his audience ; “ it simply asserts 
that mental differences are just as inflexible 
as physical ones. There is no reason why 
the spiritual man should be as the practical, 
nor why the practical man should be as the 
spiritual man. The question of will does 
not come in necessarily; though in these 
extreme cases I am persuaded that no 
amount of will could make any change, any 
more than will can change one’s body from 
tall to short, or vice versa, using this as an 
illustration, and not at all as agreeing with 


A 8KIBMISH. 


89 


the materialists as to the identical nature of 
body and mind.” 

Aunt Judy had listened very attentively 
and respectfully to the professor’s discourse, 
but with a puzzled expression which deep- 
ened more and more, until at this point she 
took advantage of a pause to say : — 

“ Eeally, perfessor, I don’t see very clear 
how that makes any difference with b’lievin’ 
of the Scripters and makin’ on ’em a rule to 
live by.” 

“It makes this difference,” said the pro- 
fessor, “ that between these two classes, with 
their widely different interpretations of the 
Bible, their diverse' opinions, and ther arbi- 
trary rulings, many a tender young fledg- 
ling is crowded out of the Christian nest” ; 
and the professor unconsciously glanced at 
the earnest face of his companion, while an 
almost imperceptible tenderness glimmered 
in his dark eyes. Nobody appeared to notice 
this but Mrs. Goodrich and Charles, who 
happened to be stationed at points exactly 
opposite in the semicircle around the three 
who were seated upon the sofa ; and the two 
exchanged swift and intelligent glances, as 
if each had made a discovery which it was 
important the other should know. Charles 
seemed to think it was high time for him to 
have something more to say, for he re- 
marked : — 

“ I should think the responsibility of being 
crowded from the nest would be with the 
one so crowded ; for the nest is very roomy 


90 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


indeed, and it is impossible to crowd any one 
out who is determined to stay.” 

“That’s so,” said several voices. 

“Continuing the figure,” said the pro- 
fessor, “some occupants of the nest are so 
young and the jostlings are so violent that 
they are sometimes pitched out headlong, 
before they have time to resist.” 

Mrs. Goodrich darted a swift and severe 
look at her son, as if in condemnation of his 
tactics. And Charles was looking around 
for some new line of assault which should 
reach the professor and yet leave Mary 
unscathed, when, to his dismay. Aunt Judy 
picked up the weapon he had discarded and 
advanced to a hand-to-hand encounter. 

“Perfessor,” she said, with a tinge of 
severity in her voice, “there’s somethin’ said 
in the Scriptures about dark’nin’ counsel by 
words without wisdom. It seems to me 
they aint no use of argymentation to tell us 
what our duty is. Everybody’s got a still, 
small voice that lays it right hum to his 
onderstandin’, an’ it don’t make much dif- 
ference how young the body is nuther. I 
don’t think the congregation of the Lord is 
nothin’ like a nest with a mess o’ chipperin’ 
things in it that’s nuther birds nor eggs so 
far, but only big mouths fixed onto little 
lumps o’ fat an’ pin feathers. The Gospil is 
so simple that even a little child can onder- 
stan’ it and know its duties; and the Lord 
said, ‘ Suffer little children to come onto me, 
an’ forhid ’em not, for o’ sech is the kingdom 


A SKIRMISH. 


91 


o’ heav’n,” and he gave them his pertickler 
blessin; an’ there aint no kind o’ argyfyin’ 
that’ll make me b’lieve that even them little 
children can be shuck out o’ that nest, unless 
Satan’s at the bottom on’t, an’ they go 
straight agin their conscience an’ the light 
that’s gin ’em. But, perfessor, ’taint no 
use talkin’ about these little ones no how, 
for the case that we’re consid’rin’ — ” 

“We are not considering any particular 
case. Auntie,” interrupted the professor 
gently, but with something in his voice that 
almost forbade the old lady to continue. 

“Well, then,” she persisted, “you can’t 
make people that’s growed up ‘little ones,’ 
no matter how young they be — and how 
engagin’,” she added, with a shade of wick- 
edness in her voice, as she gave the professor 
a meaning look, which was duly marked by 
Mrs. Goodrich and Charles. 

Mary seemed to feel as if she had become 
the centre of observation, which in fact she 
was; therefore no one was surprised when 
she broke silence. 

“Auntie,” she said in a subdued voice, “I 
have a great deal of respect for your experi- 
ence and for your judgment. You have 
been my friend and counsellor for half of 
my lifetime. Yet in this case I feel that you 
have made a mistake. I cannot believe that 
Satan has anything to do with my present 
state of mind, and my darkness is so deep 
upon that point that I cannot see at all as 
you do. You have never stood in my place, 


92 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


I think. Unless reason is an arch-traitor, 
then my duty is to follow reason, though it 
break my heart” — her voice trembled — “ and 
sometimes I think it will.” The girl paused 
with a choking voice, but presently she pro- 
ceeded : — 

“You cannot know the bitter cruelty there 
is in charging my trouble to Satan and to 
natural depravity, or your heart would not 
let you say so, even though you thought it 
true. You cannot know the terrible sacri- 
fice which one in my position makes for 
the sake of a clear conscience. You said a 
moment ago that what I thought was con- 
science was simply natural depravity, and 
that Satan had put it into my head to think 
so — it was one of his snares. At the moment, 
it is easier for me to believe that Satan would 
urge me to violate my integrity and return, 
a hypocrite, to my old unquestioning faith, 
than it is to believe that he would urge me 
to keep a clear conscience at all hazards, to 
turn my back upon every joy and to face 
every form of sorrow, rather than be false 
to myself and to that sense of right and 
wrong which is a part of my being. What- 
ever may have brought me to this present 
state, I could no longer profess the full faith 
of my early childhood without hypocrisy, 
without perjuring my soul and unfitting it 
for the enjoyment of any religion, the life- 
blood of which was drawn from the veins of 
so divine a character as Jesus Christ. Peo- 
ple fall into sin because its ways seem so 


A SKIRMISH. 


93 


pleasant. It is the strait and narrow way 
which leads to eternal life; and that is 
the way I am walking now, following my 
reason, in spite of every dogma to the con- 
trary. ” 

The professor was listening with downcast 
eyes. The rest of the company I'egarded the 
speaker, as she grew more and more impas- 
sioned, with glances that, in some cases, 
showed sympathy, in others extreme disap- 
proval ; and, in still others, doubt as to ex- 
actly what ought to be thought of such 
words. Mrs. Goodrich had come quite close 
and was toying with the ribbon with which 
the young lady’s hair was gathered back, or 
tenderly adjusting a ringlet back of a deli- 
cate ear, and generally showing sympathy 
with the evident suffering of the girl, if not 
with her views. Mary continued : — 

“ If those of your belief. Auntie, only knew 
the misery through which the honest doubter 
often passes, you would give up the gross 
and degrading notion that total depravity is 
at the bottom of every questioning of mir- 
acles or the verbal inspiration of the Bible ; 
and you would realize that it costs more of 
the pleasures of this world to stand apart 
from the great mass of believers, with all 
their social and religious pleasures, than it 
does to choke doubt and throttle reason, and 
join the careless flock that feeds by the still 
waters forever. For what does one gain by 
doubting? The pained and often horrifled 
looks of those dearest to him ; the carping 


94 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


of the shallow and the ponderous rebuke of 
the profound ; religious ostracism, and from 
those who really believe as you profess to 
believe, Auntie, impeachment of motives, 
suspicious and offensive scrutiny, as if to 
find some moral rottenness hack of the dis- 
belief in eternal punishment. And, more 
terrible than all the rest, the honest doubter 
exchanges for a firm belief in a better world 
with its eternity of holy happiness, its re- 
union of all those loved ‘and lost awhile, ’ the 
serene consciousness that an infinite fatherly 
power is keeping the light of heaven in 
golden, untarnished beauty and that it can 
never grow dim — in exchange for all this 
the doubter receives a fading picture of for- 
mer hopes, a vision of ties dearer than life 
dissolving in the black waters of eternal 
death, the blackness of darkness yawning be- 
fore him never to be broken by a dawn, the 
chill of death creeping over him never to be 
dispelled by heaven’s summer sun — oh, tell 
me that doubt comes with its hands so f ull of 
glittering treasures that the dazzled eye be- 
trays the wavering brain and sells the strug- 
gling soul to hell’s captivity!” and Mary hid 
her face in her handkerchief and broke into 
an agony of tears. 

Tears were in the eyes of many of the 
auditors, and more than one of the ladies 
turned away to hide her emotions; several 
sobbed convulsively and retired from the 
scene with their faces in their handkerchiefs. 
Professor Parker’s countenance showed the 


A SKIRMISH. 


greatest concern while Mary was speaking ; 
and when she broke down under the weight 
of her emotions, to hide his own, he rose and 
left the room; while Mrs. Goodrich leaned 
over and kissed the neck of the sobbing girl, 
and whispered softly : — 

“We will never forsake you, dear.” 

Aunt Judy was the very picture of dis- 
tress, and said to her victim in a low, sooth- 
ing voice : — 

“I don’t b’lieve you’re very bad, child, or 
Satan would have an easier victory.” 

At this moment, Mr. and Mrs. Temple 
appeared for the first time. Mrs. Temple 
instantly perceived her weeping daughter, 
and while Mr. Temple turned to greet Dr. 
Goodrich, who had also just made his appear- 
ance, she hastened to her side and took the 
seat just vacated by Professor Parker, and 
bending over whispered in her ear, “ Mary ! ” 
Mary did not look up. She simply pressed 
her mother’s hand. The mother had not 
said, “Peace, be still!” but her presence had 
said so, and the heaving breast of her 
daughter soon became calm. George shortly 
appeared and also observed that something 
was wrong with Mary, and as the latter 
looked up at him and faintly smiled, he 
said : — 

“ Show me who did it 1 ” 

“Aunt Judy,” said Mary, but there was 
no bitterness in the accusation. George 
glanced with a puzzled expression at Aunt 
Judy, who was the only one besides the Tern- 


96 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


pies still in the neighborhood. Sad in coun- 
tenance and slow of speech, the old lady 
answered the mute interrogation of the 
youth : — 

“ I don’t think it was me. I think it was 
the Lord.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

MOTHER AND SON. 

After the guests had departed, and the 
rest of the family had retired, Mrs. Goodrich 
and Charles still lingered in the parlor. 
Charles stooped and picked up a bright object 
which had been lying under the edge of the 
sofa upon which Mary Temple sat during 
her martyrdom.- 

“What is it, Charlie?” said Mrs. Good- 
rich, moving towards her son. 

“I don’t know yet; but it looks like a 
gild’s locket. Yes,” — opening the trinket 
and studying the inside closely — “that is 
what it is. And here are somebody’s ini- 
tials, ‘M T.,’ on the inside of the lid.” 

“I wonder whose hair it is,” said Mrs. 
Goodrich, looking intently at the ornament. 

“It is just the shade of Mary’s hair, 
and — ” 

“Oh, yes,” interrupted Mrs. Goodrich, 
“those are Mary’s initials.” 

“And,” continued Charles, “if it were 
likely that she would be so choice of her own 
hair, I would think the hair was hers.” 

“It’s her father’s hair, I think,” said Mrs. 
Goodrich, after another look; “you know 
his hair is just the shade of Mary’s.” 

7 


98 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


“Yes,” said Charles, “and there is just 
one hair that looks a little gray. And here 
are some more initials, ‘From R. T.’ ; I sup- 
pose those letters stand for ‘Richard Temple, ’ 
as that is her father’s name. I will take 
the locket around to her in the morning.” 

“No,” said Mrs. Goodrich, “give it to me 
and I will see that she gets it” ; and Charles 
surrendered at discretion. 

“ Mother,” said Charles presently, in a low 
voice, as he drew confidentially near the lady, 
“ did you notice how Professor Parker looked 
when he was referring to Mary in his talk?” 

“Yes,” in a matter-of-fact tone. 

“What did you think of it? ” 

“ If you had been in the professor’s place 
and had made the same allusion, would you 
have looked different?” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know — after a pause — 
“ if I had not concealed my feelings, perhaps 
not,” and Charles blushed. “ But won’t you 
tell me what you thought of his looking so? 
It seemed to attract your notice at the 
time.” 

“ In other words, do I think the professor 
is just a little smitten with pretty Mary ; is 
that it? ” 

“Yes,” looking down and waiting in 
apparent anxiety. 

“Suppose I should say ‘yes,’ would that 
fill my son with trepidation and terror? Or 
would it nerve him the more for the con- 
test? ” 

“Mother,” said Charles, after studying a 


MOTHER AND SON. 


99 


moment, “I think there is no better girl in 
Boston than Mary. My heart tells me that, 
in spite of her wandering religious views, 
I would trust her with my own happiness to 
the ends of the earth. Furthermore I never 
felt just that peculiar consideration for 
anybody else which I have for her, ” — and 
the voice of the young man softened and he 
blushed again — “but, mother, since I saw 
the professor look so tenderly at her, I have 
been thinking it over, and it seems to me that 
she would be more happy with somebody 
like him, who thinks about as she does, 
though — ” 

“Oh, nonsense, Charles!” broke in Mrs. 
Goodrich; “I hope you’re not going to be 
chicken-hearted and run away, because the 
professor, with his handsome mustache, has 
smiled on your lady-love ! ” 

“No, no, mother; that’s not the point. 
I’m not afraid of the professor and his mus- 
tache. I was going to say that though Mary 
is one of the loveliest of persons, there is one 
drawback which I think would compel me 
not to take it much to heart if she should 
place her affections elsewhere, and that 
drawback is her scepticism. That would be 
a great objection to her as a clergyman’s 
wife. Her very fineness of grain would pre- 
vent her from being hypocritical, and she 
could not co-operate at all in her husband’s 
religious work, and, as a minister’s wife 
ought, strengthen his influence.” 

“Oh, fiddle!” cried Mrs. Goodrich, “ten 


100 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


to one Mary will get over her scepticism in 
a month ; and you know just how energetic 
she is and what a model minister's wife she 
would make if she did. And if she never 
got over her scepticism, but became even 
more sceptical, her charitable disposition 
would make her popular anywhere ; for it is 
really the loaves and fishes that attract the 
multitude,” — with a cynical smile — “and I 
dare say she would make more friends for 
you in that way than nine tenths of the 
ministers’ wives make for their husbands, 
with their orthodoxy and their laziness. 

Charles looked at his mother as if greatly 
surprised. 

“Why, mother,” he faltered; “on the 
whole I think I never saw a more industrious 
and helpful lot of women than the ministers’ 
wives I am acquainted with. You are not 
lazy, I am sure ; and I don’t think that min- 
isters’ wives generally are lazy — at any rate, 
lazy in proportion to their orthodoxy, which 
you seem to insinuate.” - 

“ Well, you needn’t be too sharp with your 
logic,” said the mother, smiling faintly, 
“and I would like to have you point out 
another girl as desirable in so many, ways as 
Mary.” 

“ She certainly is a very desirable person 
indeed,” said Charles. “Her father is rich; 
she is a beauty ; and she offers the additional 
advantage that,” — hesitating, coughing a 
little, and blushing a little more, — “the ad- 
vantage that I love her.” 


MOTHER AND SON. 


101 


“ Then, ” exploded Mrs. Goodrich, “you’ll 
he a fool if you don’t win and wed her, in 
spite of Professor Parker and the infidelity 
of a Tom Paine ! ” 

“ Why, mother ! How you talk ! Is there 
nothing that ought to annul even true love?” 
and Charles stared at his mother with wide- 
open eyes. 

“Perhaps there might he in some cases, 
but I don’t think this is one of them. And 
I think the less you discuss that scepticism 
of hers, either with her or with anybody that 
belongs to her, the better for your chances. 
And I beg you not to make the mistake 
again that you made this evening when you 
attempted to throw the responibility of scep- 
ticism upon the sceptic.” 

“I thought it really belonged there, 
mother.” 

“But it is not always your duty to say 
just what you think, my son.” 

Charles did not look entirely convinced 
of this, but it evidently did not arouse 
within him a very rancorous opposition, for, 
after a moment’s reflection, he kissed his 
mother a kind good night, and turned away 
in silence. 

“ Charles !” as the young man was leaving 
the room. 

“ Mother ! ” 

“Don’t tell anybody about finding the 
locket. I want the pleasure of giving Mary 
a complete surprise.” 

“Just as you say, mother.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

MARY TO EDITH. 

The day after the sociable was stormy, 
and Mary took advantage of it to write the 
following letter to her friend, Edith Nick- 
erson, who was at that time in Florence, 
Italy, with her uncle’s family: — 

Dearest Edith : It seems like a very long 
time since I heard from you, but in reality it is 
only two weeks, as I see by looking at the post- 
mark on your last letter. I hope the climate of 
Italy is doing wonders for your health and 
your stay need not be much longer. For I am 
homesick to see you and tell you a hundred 
things that would make this letter or any other 
letter too long. 

Mamma has instructed me to invite you to 
come and stay with us on your return, and not 
to take “ no” for an answer. How I wish you 
would and never leave me again ! I have told 
you a good many times that you are the dearest 
friend I have outside of my own family, and 
I do not mean by that that you are any less 
dear than George or Robin, or even mamma 
and papa, though they are the best brothers and 
parents a girl ever had. I have no sister but 
you, Edith, and I know sisters were never 
nearer than we are to one another. There is 
only one thing in which we are not like born 


MARY TO EDITH. 


103 


sisters: we have never had a spat; and I do 
not think we ever shall unless we get one up 
purposely, and I should be in favor of that if it 
could make us more truly sisters. We have 
never had the fun of “ making up” yet, and 
don’t you think it would be nice? If we con- 
clude to do it, we can arrange it when you 
come, which I hope will be very soon. 

A great deal has happened within the last 
week or so which I suppose I ought to tell you 
about. You know I told you in my last letter 
that I had determined to tell mamma all about 
my trouble and get her to tell papa. I did so, 
and I am glad of it. I am not tormented any 
longer about deceiving people when I go to 
church and to the sewing circles and other 
places where the church people meet. I have 
given up my class in Sunday School because I 
could not teach what I didn’t believe. Some- 
how it all got out in a very short time after I 
told mamma. I told papa he had better teU 
our minister, and the very next time I attended 
a sewing circle at his house, everybody knew 
it. I could see it by the way they all looked at 
me. I think Ida Goodrich was at the bottom 
of the mischief. She is a very sweet girl, but 
I am afraid she don’t like me very much for 
some reason that I am ignorant of. She prob- 
ably heard the news from her father or mother, 
and while I hardly think she told it to be spite- 
ful, she very likely was not as careful as if she 
had felt for me as an intimate friend. But it 
is just as well as it is; for now the trial is over 
and I am not living a falsehood any longer. I 
had an unhappy experience at the sociable last 
evening. Aunt Judy, about whom I have often 
told you, heard that I was an “onbeliever,” and 


104 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


came and asked me, with a great deal of anx- 
iety, if it was so. I really do not know who 
told her; but I saw Ida Goodrich watching 
Auntie from the other side of the room. I was 
conversing with Professor Parker at the time, 
and was so pleasantly occupied that I could not 
help feeling annoyed when she plumped down 
beside me and opened fire. I am very fond of 
Aunt Judy; she is one of the best-hearted peo- 
ple in the world, but she is a Puritan of the 
purest blood, and she would have it that an 
unbeliever’s conscience was total depravity, or 
something of the sort. That hurt my feelings. 
Of course I did not believe it. We both know 
what pleasant associations our new way of 
thinking has destroyed, and how much we 
really suffer for fidelity to conscience. Pro- 
fesor Parker saw what was coming, and I feel 
very grateful to him for trying to lead Aunt 
Judy into a general argument about unbelief, 
which would have no personal application. It 
was of no avail. She thought she had a duty 
to perform, and she came back to the personal 
application as straight as if she had been lead- 
ing a Methodist revival, and I saw no way but 
to accept her challenge before the whole gather- 
ing — just think of it, Edith ! — and justify my- 
self as well as I could. I broke down and had 
a good cry before I had said all I wished ; but 
I think I said enough to convince most of my 
audience that I was in earnest and really had 
a defence of some sort. 

You don’t know how surprised I have been 
to find that even Dr. Goodrich and Professor 
Parker and papa think a great deal as we do 
about many things. The professor gave us a 
wonderful talk about the inspiration of the 


MARY TO EDITH. 105 

Bible, and I think Dr. Goodrich has some of 
the most sensible ideas about the effect of real 
belief upon people. Somehow they don’t seem 
to think arbitrary belief in some of these 
“ posers ” (as you and I call them) a very essen- 
tial thing after all; and, really, Edith, I don’t 
see that they do make so much difference. It 
is not so hard to believe in the inspiration of 
the Bible in the way that Professor Parker 
does. Still, I mean to ask him some time how 
he reconciles the Bible story of the creation of 
the first man six thousand years ago with the 
discovery of fossil men in some of the caves, 
where the geologists think they had been lying 
perhaps a quarter of a million years. If he can 
explain that and a few other things, he will 
help me a great deal. 

Isn’t it a weary search that we are engaged 
in, Edith ! I don’t know how you feel about it, 
but I am so tired sometimes that it seems as if 
I should give it all up and shut my eyes and 
run back to the old pasture-ground along the 
same path I have followed so far from it. All 
this argument and discussion seems like hunt- 
ing through an endless amount of chaff for the 
fewest imaginable grains of wheat. Don’t you 
get tired and thirsty over it? I can’t tell you 
how thirsty I get from the dryness of all these 
syllogisms, with their doubly dry conclusions. 

Professor Parker’s little talks are wonderfully 
moistening and cooling in comparison, and I 
find myself more and more in sympathy with 
his ways of thinking. Do hurry up and come. 
I am so anxious that you should become 
acquainted with him and see if he does not 
affect you in the same way. He is so hand- 
some that I want to be convinced that it is not 


106 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


sympathy with his good looks — you know we 
girls have a weakness of that kind — rather than 
with his good sense that impresses me so. You 
need not laugh, Edith, and say, ‘‘ The silly girl 
is in love with the professor !” I don’t think 
the silly girl is in love at all. What would the 
professor do with a sceptical wife, and he a 
superintendent of a Sunday School? It couldn’t 
be, even if he should ask me; and I don’t believe 
he cares for me at all. He is very kind, but I 
think it is because he pities my loneliness and 
is trying to touch some chord of sympathy 
between me and people who think as he does 
and yet believe in the Christian religion. I 
wish I could believe it all again, Edith. It is 
so much pleasanter than being out in the cold, 
isn’t it? But we will be honest, whatever we 
do, and stick to one another, and not be out in 
the cold any more than we can help. 

Please come as soon as you can. I have some- 
thing very special to tell you. There is no use 
in saying I hope you are improving fast. You 
know that without my wasting words. Give 
my love to your uncle and aunt, and write soon, 
saying when you will arrive in Boston. 

Good-by. As ever, 


Mary, 


CHAPTER X. 

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 

Robin Temple was building a stately man- 
sion of red and white blocks in his mother’s 
sitting-room, and his sister was helping him 
contrive a cupola for the imposing structure. 

In one hand Mary held a piece of needle- 
work ; with the other she was adjusting a 
block. It was this picture that Professor 
Parker looked upon, when he was ushered 
into the sitting-room a few days after the 
sociable. 

“Good morning. Miss Temple,” said he. 
“I must throw the responsibility of this 
intrusion upon Mrs. Temple.” 

“ A very weighty responsibility, I assure 
you,” said Mary, smiling, as she rose and 
offered her hand. 

“I have come to ask a favor,” resumed 
the professor, “ and without wasting words 
it is this: Will you play something from 
Beethoven for us at the seminary to-morrow 
evening? I have tried to spare you the 
trouble, as you are never anxious to shine in 
public ; but every one else has failed me, and 
we must wind up the first part with a selec- 
tion from Beethoven. You are the only 


108 


doubting castle. 


available talent left for that important posi- 
tion.” 

“You are very kind to leave me to the 
last, Professor, and perhaps I can balance 
the obligation by filling the place. Do you 
know of anything to prevent the arrange- 
ment for to-morrow evening, mamma? ” 

“ No, ” said Mrs. Temple. “ Charlie Good- 
rich is coming to help George with his alge- 
bra, but that needn’t keep you home.” 

Up to this moment Eobin had been hard 
at work upon his building and had appar- 
ently not heard the conversation. Never- 
theless, he now looked up and said : — 

“George says he don’t b’lieve Charlie 
Goodrich cares very much about showing 
him algebra. He says his eyes aint blue an’ 
his cheeks pink, an’ his hair long and purty 
like — ” 

“ Robin ! ” interposed his mother gently. 

“That’s wot George said, mamma; I 
’member zackly wot he said.” 

“Robin must not talk about what other 
people say,” said his mother. 

Did Mary’s rich color deepen? And was 
that expression in Mary’s eyes one of soft 
appeal? The professor could not tell; but 
as soon as he recovered his presence of mind 
he said: — 

“ I truly honor Charlie’s taste ; for which 
I beg George’s pardon.” 

“ And for which I am much obliged to the 
gallant professor,” said Mary quickly; and 
they joined in a laugh which broke the ice. 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 


109 


At this moment Ida Goodrich was ushered in. 
For an instant she stared rather blankly at 
the group before her, and then exchanged 
greetings. 

“Charlie asked me to drop in,” she said, 
“ and see if it would make any difference if 
he didn’t come to help George with his alge- 
bra until day after to-morrow evening. He 
has been invited to the seminary entertain- 
ment, and is anxious to go if possible. He 
says he will come around this evening, if the 
delay will inconvenience George.” 

“ I dess not, ” said Robin, “ ’cause he said — ” 

“Robin,” said Mary gently, and the little 
fellow turned to his blocks, evidently feeling 
that he had made another mistake ; for he 
looked very penitent. 

“I don’t think it will make any difference 
with George,” said Mrs. Temple, “but he 
could tell better himself. Wont you spend 
the day with us, Ida? ” 

“Thank you very much. I should be de- 
lighted to stay ; but mamma is waiting for 
me to do another errand for her, and I sup- 
pose I must hurry back.” 

Possibly the trio in the Temple sitting- 
room would have been surprised if they had 
followed Ida home. 

“It is all right, mamma,” said she, in 
answer to that lady’s inquiring glance, as 
she raised her eyes from her writing. “ But 
who do you suppose I found in the sitting- 
room with Mary and her mother? ” 

“Professor Parker? ” said Mrs.» Goodrich. 


110 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


“Why, Mother Goodrich! You would 
have been burned for a witch two hundred 
years ago ! ” 

“Humph! He must be in a bad way, 
calling on a young lady at this hour of the 
morning,” said the witch. “Did you hear 
what his errand was?” 

“ No ; but they were having a pretty good 
time together when I went in. Mary was 
blushing as red as a turkey at the moment I 
opened the door, and the professor was look- 
ing straight at her.” 

“I wish you had heard what his business 
was at the Temples’ so early in the day.” 

“ They didn’t deign to inform me, and I 
hardly thought it proper to ask,” said Ida, 
looking slyly at her mother. “Shall I go 
back and find out? ” 

“No, child, of course not. I suppose it is 
only an idle curiosity on my part,” and Mrs. 
Goodrich resumed writing. 

Ida was about to leave the room, when 
her mother said : — 

“ Don’t tell Charlie that you saw the pro- 
fessor at Mr Temple’s this morning.” 

“Why, mother, why not?” opening her 
eyes very wide 

“Mind your mother, Ida, and be a good 
daughter — ” without raising her eyes. 

“Very well, mother,” and Ida left the 
room in a brown study. 

The moment Charles entered the house, 
something like an hour later, Mrs. Goodrich 
summoned him to her side. 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. Ill 

There is to be an entertainment at the 
seminary to-morrow evening, dear,” she 
said, and I am anxious that you should go. ” 

^‘But I haven’t been invited, mother 
mine.” 

course you have, Charlie mine. 
Didn’t Professor Parker give you a standing 
invitation to attend all those entertainments 
while you were in town? ” 

“ That was for politeness’ sake, I suppose. 
I hardly feel like going without something 
further and more urgent than that.” 

You have the strangest notions, Charlie. 
But I have anticipated you this time. I met 
one of the seminary officials on the street 
this morning, and he gave us all a special 
invitation to this entertainment. Now I 
want you to go and take Mary Temple.” 

^^Come to think of it, mother, I am to 
meet George about his algebra to-morrow 
evening; at any rate, I understood you to 
say Ida made that arrangement for me.” 

‘ That’s all right, too; you are not to go 
until the following evening.” 

^^What a good general you are, mother! 
I wish I were sure of being as successful 
with my part as ybu have been with yours.” 

“What part do you mean? ” 

“ Coaxing that pretty creature around at 
the Temples’ to go with me to-morrow 
evening.” 

“There will be no trouble about that, I 
imagine,” glancing at the handsome face 
and figure of her pet son. 


113 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


“ I am not so sure of that, mother. George 
told me this morning — ” 

“ George who? ” 

“Why, George Temple.” 

“You haven’t been at the Temples’ this 
morning ! ” 

“Yes, I was there a moment or two.” 
“Why, Charles, why didn’t you let me 
know you "were going? ” 

Mrs. Temple had risen to her feet and was 
looking at her son with an expression of in- 
tense anxiety; perceiving that something 
was wrong, the latter, putting his arms 
about his mother, sank into an easy-chair 
and drew her upon his lap. 

“ Because I didn’t know I was going there 
when I went out,” he then gently made 
answer. 

“What changed your mind? ” 

“ George tapped on the attic window, as I 
was passing his house upon the opposite side 
of the street, and drew my attention ; and, 
as I wanted to see his new wood-lathe in the 
workshop, and, as I thought ” — stammering 
and hesitating — 

“What?” 

“ That I might catch a glimpse of Mary — ” 
“And did you? ” 

“No; it was just my luck; the colored 
hoy let me in, so I was compelled to go 
directly up to the attic without seeing any 
one else, and I came out in the same style.” 

Mrs. Goodrich sighed heavily, as if a 
burden had been rolled from her mind. 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 


113 


I had only known you were going 
there,” she said, ‘‘it would have saved me 
sending Ida to postpone your call to-morrow 
evening. But what was it that George told 
you? ” 

Oh, merely that he thought Mary was 
going to play something at the entertain- 
ment ; at any rate he had encountered Pro- 
fessor Parker and ushered him in the house, 
on his way to invite Mary to favor him. If 
that is so, he will probably be her escort.” 

“ Oh, pshaw ! The professor will have his 
hands too full for that. I think it is your 
duty to offer Mary your company.” 

‘^That I shall do gladly; and then, what- 
ever the result, I shall feel as if my full duty 
had been done.” And Charles gently put 
his mother from his knee and rose, as if to 
leave the room ; but, all at once, as if recol- 
lecting something which had before escaped 
his mind, he said: — 

I must tell you of a droll sight I saw this 
morning — about the best joke I ever saw 
played upon a man by his own absent-mind- 
edness. Professor Parker was the victim, 
too.” 

^^Oh, let us hear it, by all means,” said 
Mrs. Goodrich, with sudden eagerness. And 
they both laughed heartily at the joke when 
Charles had finished. What the joke was 
will appear later. 

^^It was Charlie,” said Mary, in answer to 
her mother’s inquiring look, when, about the 
8 


114 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


middle of the afternoon, she returned to the 
sitting-room, after responding to a call to 
the parlor. “ He olfered his company for to- 
morrow evening; but he did seem much dis- 
appointed when I told him Professor Parker 
was to he my escort. Charlie is very kind. 
He don’t forget the times we had together 
when we were small and did examples on 
the same slate.” 

“I never knew that,” said Mrs. Temple. 

“Oh, yes,” said Mary, “he would work 
awhile and I would look over; then I would 
take the slate and work while he looked over. 
And such a chattering as we kejjt up! I 
wonder that either could calculate while the 
other was jabbering so. But between us we 
usually got them all.” 

“ But he has been away from home a good 
deal during the last few years, and I should 
suppose you would have outgrown one 
another.” 

“Oh, no! He seems like the same little 
school-boy I used to know ; and he says I 
seem like the same little girl with the 
worsted hood in which he first saw me.” 

“Do you think he is going to make a 
great preacher, Mary? ” 

“I’m sure I don’t know how great Charlie 
will be. He is not grown up yet, I think. 
His mind appears to be still forming. But 
there is one thing I do know about Charlie 
Goodrich; he is truthful and honorable. I 
never knew him to deceive, whatever the 
provocation, I have seen him suffer for tell- 


MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 


115 


ing the truth in school, when the whitest 
possible lie would have saved him.” 

“That was certainly very noble in him,” 
said Mrs. Temple, but with a somewhat 
puzzled expression which Mary did not 
observe. 

“I always admired him for it,” continued 
Mary; “and I thinks it makes no difference 
if they do say he is conceited ; he is honest 
enough to make it up. But I never saw a 
great deal of conceit in him; and he will 
outgrow his surplus, if he has any.” 

Mrs. Temple raised her eyes and met her 
daughter’s glance. Mary blushed to the 
roots of her hair, and then, dropping her 
eyes, she said : — 

“You would think I was in love with 
Charlie, wouldn’t you, mamma? ” 

“Not necessarily,” said the mother, smil- 
ing apparently at her daughter’s exquisite 
embarrassment; “I think it is possible for 
you to do a young man justice without 
being in love with him.” 

“Thank you, mamma,” — regaining her 
composure. “The fact is I never had the 
slightest feeling towards Charlie different 
from that which I have towards George and 
Robin.” 

“ Then what were you blushing about?” 

“ It is easy enough to explain that. I sud- 
denly realized that Charlie was no relative 
of mine, and that one ignorant of the cir- 
cumstances might think my enthusiasm 
other than sisterly.” 


116 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


feeling to which my daughter is a 
stranger, of course,” — with a corner wise 
glance and a certain drollery of expression. 

Why, mamma, of course, — that is” — and 
the roses in Mary’s cheeks again vanquished 
the lilies, and it was some moments before 
the latter recruited their ranks. 

beg my daughter’s pardon,” said the 
mother, after a moment’s pause, in which 
she seemed to enjoy the girl’s confusion. 

“You took me by surprise, mamma.” 

“Does ’Fessor Parker take sister by 
s’prise, too? ” said Robin, who thus far had 
been a silent listener. 

“Why do you ask, Robin?” said the 
sister. 

“ ’Cause sister looks just as she does some- 
times when ’Fessor Parker talks to her,” 
promptly responded the young logician. 

“ Why, Robin ! ” cried Mary, catching the 
child in her arms and hiding her blushing 
face in his abundant curls ; then putting him 
down with a kiss, she left the room. 


CHAPTEE XI. 


THE WORM AT WORK. 

At the close of the entertainment at the 
seminary, Professor Parker walked home 
with Mary, in the full moonlight of a mild 
May evening, and chatted upon many sub- 
jects, touching upon the one which was 
always near his listener’s heart, the proper 
interpretation of the Bible. After a partic- 
ularly lucid observation on his part, Mary 
became silent and for a while seemed lost in 
the enjoyment of the occasion. The air was 
balmy; the sky was without a cloud; the 
young foliage scarcely rustled upon the trees 
and shrubs. At length, as if at the end of 
a long train of thought, Mary said : — 

“Your explanation of the Bible is a very 
satisfactory one to me, for it makes all the 
dark places light ; and if that were the only 
thing troubling me, my doubt would be en- 
tirely gone. But another doubt has taken 
the place of the one you have vanquished, 
more formidable, if possible, than that.” 

Here Mary paused, but as the professor 
remained silent, she presently continued: — 
“ It seems to me that we are too presump- 
tuous in thinking that all this great world 


118 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


and these beautiful things which adorn it, 
the sun and moon and all the stars, were 
made just to please us. That seems like a 
barbarous conceit. I cannot help thinking 
sometimes, and more and more frequently, 
that we human beings are not the centre 
around which everything else revolves ; but 
that it may be that, just as many things seem 
to exist as the outgrowths or parasites of 
other things, so we are but incidental to other 
and more important things, to which we are 
not even essential, but of which we are only 
a sort of unavoidable consequence. What 
gnats and mosquitoes are to the earth, so we 
and all our seemingly momentous interests 
are in reality to the great external universe ; 
and our final destiny may be no higher, com- 
paratively, than theirs.’’ 

This was the materialism in Mary to 
which Dr. Goodrich had referred in his con- 
versation with the professor on the day of 
the sewing circle. The professor had not 
encountered it before, and from the shock 
of it he remained for some seconds silent. 
He seemed to find it hard to realize that this 
girl at his side, the gentle pressure of whose 
hand he felt upon his arm, could for an in- 
stant imagine herself nothing but an accident 
in the material universe. In her own beau- 
tiful person, he thought, she gave the lie to 
chance. He involuntarily glanced down at 
her, as if to assure himself that it was Beauty 
and not the Beast who had just spoken. He 
knew some creatures in the world whose 


119 


THE WORM AT WORK. 

only reasonable excuse for existence was that 
they had happened ; but this creature at his 
side needed no such excuse for being. Had 
he been a brother or any other relative he 
might have said : — 

“Oh, Mary! if you have never looked in 
a glass, do so immediately, and find there 
the everlasting refutation of the theory of 
chance” — but not being at liberty to speak 
thus, he at length said : — 

“I am no believer in wandering spirits, 
but I love to feel that there is a presence in 
this world that paints the grasses green and 
the roses red, and tints the cheek of youth, 
all because I exist to appreciate and enjoy 
the beautiful. I cannot feel that man, the 
highest of animate creation, is after all a 
mere parasite, a circumstance, like an aero- 
lite or comet, an incident to the universal 
system.” 

Mary’s heart gave a bound in response to 
this sentiment, and • every fibre of her 
woman’s nature echoed “amen.” Yet that 
dark wall of reason, unlighted by revela- 
tion, seemed to rise between her and the per- 
fect faith for which she longed. She felt a 
kind of dim terror as she realized how swiftly 
the breach was widening that separated her 
from her early belief. She began with sim- 
ply doubting the inspiration of the Bible; 
but she now found herself doubting almost 
everything. There seemed to be a sort of 
dead rot everywhere. Everything crumbled, 
as if the tooth of the worm which dieth not 


120 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


were at its root. As she fully realized her 
position, Mary sighed deeply and mur- 
mured : — 

“ Lord, help me, or I perish ! ” 

Though he did not hear the murmured 
appeal, the professor did hear the sigh, and 
pitied the unhappy girl from the bottom of 
his heart. 


CHAPTER XII. 


A CONFESSION. 

The professor and his venerable mother 
were seated in their comfortable sitting- 
room, apparently studying the faces in the 
open grate fire; for neither had spoken for 
a long time. The house was silent from 
foundation to roof -tree. The little girls had 
long since retired. Mrs. Parker, for some 
moments past, had alternated her study of 
the bed of glowing coals with glances at the 
countenance of her son. At length she spoke. 

“Henry, my hoy,” she said, “are you feel- 
ing well?” 

“About as well as usual, mother, thank 
you,” was the reply. 

“ It may have been my childish imagina- 
tion,” said the mother, “but I have fancied 
lately that you are a good deal depressed by 
over-work, and perhaps by something of 
which I am ignorant.” 

“You are not childish, mother. It was 
not imagination. I am a good deal de- 
pressed at times ; and at times, on the con- 
trary, highly exalted. But I think my gen- 
eral health is good, and that I shall recover 
from this depression before long.” 


132 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


“But, my dear boy,” said the mother, 
rising to her son’s side and placing a hand 
upon his forehead, “can you not tell your 
mother the cause of your feeling so, if you 
know? Perhaps we can contrive a remedy 
together.” 

Henry was silent a moment, during which 
he took the hand that was pressing his fore- 
head into both his own. 

“I don’t know, mother,” he said pre- 
sently, “ that any earthly power can change 
the circumstances which have this effect 
upon me.” 

Here Henry paused, and after waiting a 
moment, Mrs. Parker spoke again : — 

“ Do you know, then, the cause of your 
trouble?” 

“Yes, mother, I think I do. At first I 
didn’t think it could be possible at my time 
of life, after having lived through so much ; 
but after to-night’s experience, I am sure 
that it is the complaint which I thought I 
had conquered once for all,” and the speaker 
smiled faintly. 

“What is it, my son? Pray, don’t suffer 
alone, when your mother so wants to share 
it with you.” 

“I’m afraid you could not share it with 
me, mother. In fact, I am morally certain 
that I am deeply in love.” 

The mother bent down and kissed the 
broad, white brow of her son and whis- 
pered : — 

“Is that all? ” 


A CONFESSION. 


123 


“Yes, that’s aZZ,” — with an eloquent look. 

“Then I’m glad the old complaint has 
returned, and I hope it has come to stay, 
if” — and the mother hesitated. What a 
world of consequence was contained in that 
“if” ! 

“ It is that ‘if’ that causes all my trouble,” 
said Henry. “The young lady who has 
so bewitched me is Mary Temple, whom I 
always admired immensely, before I ever 
cared a straw for her in a sentimental way. 
For intelligence and general balance of char- 
acter, she stands first among the young 
ladies of my acquaintance. She is the best 
of daughters and of sisters. Her temper is 
the loveliest I ever saw, except yours, 
mother,” and the son fixed his eyes with a 
very tender expression upon the face of the 
noble old lady who was looking down at 
him. “ Yet there is nothing weak or neutral 
in her character; and you know, mother, 
that physically she is a perfect Greek master- 
piece. Her brother is devotedly attached to 
her. Her parents speak to her when present 
and refer to her when absent with a tender 
respect which I have never seen equalled in 
parents. And, mother,” — the young man’s 
eyes glowed — “if I were an artist and 
wished a model for the Goddess of all the 
Virtues, I should select Mary Temple for 
that model.” 

“But, my son,” — and the mother’s voice 
trembled — “does the young lady give you 
any encouragement? ” 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


IM 

“That is a question I have not dared to 
test.” 

“ And why not, Henry? ” Then as a sudden 
thought came into her mind that filled her 
voice with sadness, the mother continued : — 

“Oh, my son, I hope your old mother does 
not stand in the way of your finding a sweet, 
young mate for your pleasant nest !” and the 
tears started into the speaker’s eyes. 

Henry rose instantly and putting his arms 
about his mother, whispered : — 

“No, no, mother, not that. You have 
always been so thoughtful of me and so con- 
siderate on that subject — so different from 
the average mother. Your kindness has de- 
served a full return from me, and I have 
made a vow never to bring a wife into your 
house — ” 

“It is not my hoiase, hut yours,” protested 
the mother. 

“Who I thought might give you the 
slightest pain on any subject whatever,” 
continued the son; “for your happiness is 
mine.” 

“ But what can that have to do with Mary 
Temple, if what you say about her is true? 
God could give me no greater blessing than 
such a daughter. Think what a comfort 
her company would be to me, when you are 
all away, as you often are.” 

Mrs. Parker felt the arms about her 
tighten as she said this. After a silence in 
which he seemed to be thinking, Henry said 
in a voice hardly above a whisper : — 


A CONFESSION. 


125 


“ Mother, Mary is a doubter and may be- 
come a confirmed sceptic. She is on the high 
road to agnosticism, if she has not already 
reached that point.” 

Mrs. Parker started and exclaimed, “ Oh, 
Henry! ” and a total change came over her 
countenance. 

“You may imagine the state of my feel- 
ings,” continued Henry. “I don’t know 
what Mary thinks of me. She is pleasant 
and always seems glad to see me ; and some- 
times I have been foolish enough to think 
there was an especial tenderness in her look 
as her eyes met mine ; hut that may be all 
imagination. I am sure of only one thing ; 
and that is that my affections have been 
hopelessly ensnared % innocent Mary Tem- 
ple; and I can easily understand now — 
though I never could before — from what 
sort of circumstances those legends arose 
which tell of people selling themselves to the 
Evil One.” 

“Oh, Henry!” exclaimed Mrs. Parker 
again. 

“ Night and day my prayer has been to be 
disenthralled from the overwhelming affec- 
tion which I have for that girl ; but in spite 
of all my efforts I find myself worshipping 
at the shrine of my beautiful goddess — oh, 
mother, is it a heathen goddess! — almost 
every second in the day. I cannot keep 
htsr from my thoughts. Even while yet en- 
gaged in prayer to be delivered from this 
temptation, her lovely eyes will beam in 


126 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


upon me and make the very darkness mel- 
low and golden with her presence. What 
shall I do?” and Henry’s head sunk upon 
his mother’s shoulder and his whole frame 
shook as with an ague. 

“ Don’t you think it likely that Mary may 
he converted from her scepticism?” said Mrs. 
Parker, after a short silence. 

“ It is just possible, and that is what keeps 
me from utter despair — that and yielding” — 
his voice trembled — “to the tempting 
thought that Mary with her scepticism is 
better than the majority of people with their 
faith.” 

Mrs. Parker looked very much concerned at 
this admission, and Henry added quickly : — 

“But forewarned is forearmed, and it is 
against the ascendency of this idea that I am 
praying and fighting so hard. For I feel in 
my sober moments that no unbeliever can be 
as good in the eye of God as a true and 
earnest believer, no matter what balance of 
intellect may stand to the credit of the un- 
believer.” 

“ And that is the truth, Henry, and I shall 
pray that you may never drift away from it, 
and I don’t think you will. But there is a 
great difference between believers. You 
know that you and I think very differently 
about some things in the Bible, and yet I 
don’t believe that God makes any difference 
in his goodness towards us on that account. 
And do you not think that, in many things, 
Mary believes just as you do? ” 


A CONFESSION. 


137 


“Yes, mother. I know she believes as I 
do about the inspiration of the Bible ; or at 
least she would not find it hard to believe 
that, were it not for the fact that she has 
come to disbelieve in God’s fatherly nature.” 

“Why, Henry !” murmured Mrs. Parker. 

“Her knowledge of science and the 
natural laws has led her to imagine that 
there is never such a thing as a providential 
intervention for any purpose whatever, and, 
prayers and praises to the contrary notwith- 
standing, that all things move along in their 
ordained course forever; that in fact the 
universe was started as if it were a piece of 
machinery run by a great engine. The Cre- 
ator is the engineer, and all he can or will do 
is just to start the engine; and that runs 
the machinery. From his place in the en- 
gine-room he cannot start or stop any given 
lathe in Nature’s great workshop without 
disturbing the whole system ; and Miss Tem- 
ple’s reasoning is that the engineer never 
stops his engine to save the lives of machin- 
ists being crushed in the machinery.” 

“ Poor girl ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Parker, 
“what a terrible idea! And yet in these 
great shops, where all the machinery is run 
by one big engine, each mechanic has within 
his reach a lever by which he can connect or 
disconnect his lathe and the source of power. 
It seems to me that prayer is the Christian’s 
special lever which can make even this great 
revolving universe serve him in his efforts to 
live as a child of God. God is the great 


128 


DOUBTING CASTLE 


Engineer, to be sure; but he has placed this 
lever within the reach of all his children; 
and the lever can modify in their behalf the 
working of even the great natural forces.” 

“Surely, mother,” said Henry, “you have 
put another edge upon that sceptic scimitar, 
and it cuts as well in the direction of faith 
as in the opposite direction. But the sceptic 
would probably reply that the machinery of 
the universe is unlike human machinery in 
that one point ; the existence of that lever 
has never been proven. I suppose it never 
has been proven to the satisfaction of the 
sceptic. That is the trouble with sceptics; 
they wouldn’t be sceptics if they had suffi- 
cient faith to trust the kind of evidence that 
makes you and me Christians. But I do not 
want to think that Mary has arrived at such 
a point that it will be impossible for her to 
return. She is rather a doubter than an 
infidel ; and proper influences may cause her 
faith yet to preponderate. But, mother, 
there is still that uncertainty which makes 
me almost sleeplessly anxious; and the very 
efforts I make to keep her mind alive with 
reflections that look towards faith, throw me 
more and more within the range of her per- 
sonal magnetism, and increase the danger of 
my becoming her captive instead of her be- 
coming mine. Yet to save my own life, I 
will not leave her to perish ; and the candid 
truth is, I don’t believe I could run away, if 
I would. My feet would refuse to carry me, 
except under the promise of a speedy return. ” 


A CONFESSION. 


129 


Henry paused as if choked with emotion; 
and Mrs. Parker said soothingly: — 

“ I think it will all come out right, Henry, 
dear, and that you will not be tempted be- 
yond your power to bear. I believe that 
God has selected you as an instrument for 
the salvation of Mary Temple ; and that, in 
the mean time, you are being tried in such a 
way that you will be stronger in the end. 
Who knows but the dear girl may be led 
back to faith by your influence, and that 
you may yet win her as the queen of your 
heart and hearth ! ” and she kissed her son’s 
forehead again and whispered : — 

“Let us ask God for his blessing.” 

9 


CHAPTER XIII. 


EDITH TO MARY. 

One beautiful morning early in June, 
while the notes of the robin and bluebird 
were gushing in at her open window, accom- 
panied by the lulling music of breeze-stirred 
foliage in front of the house, Mary Temple 
heard the voice of Robin on the stairs say- 
ing, ^VHere’s a letter for you, sister.” The 
letter ran as follows : — 

Dear Mary: Your letter kindly inviting me 
to make you a visit immediately on my return 
to America arrived this morning, and I hasten 
to acknowledge it. It will give me the greatest 
imaginable pleasure to gratify you, simply be- 
cause it will gratify me very highly to do so. I 
do not seem to get much stronger, although uncle 
and aunt do everything in their power to give 
me a fresh start. They could not be kinder. I 
sometimes get a little discouraged and lose hope 
of getting well ; and sometimes I even anticipate 
the end of all things for me in the early future. 
It does not sadden me to think so, except for those 
who I know would miss me; and I don’t want 
to leave you, though I dare say if you knew how 
much mental sufering I endure, you would 
almost be willing to let me go and be at rest. I 
think I have no serious physical ailment at all ; 


A CONFESSION. 


131 


but if I can’t rest my poor head very soon, it will 
be a wonder if I don’t break down entirely, phys- 
ically as well as mentally. 

Your thoughts seem to have been running 
very much as mine have of late, although I can’t 
get myself altogether out of this groove of doubt. 
You know that we used to agree that — 

Faith is but a false, false light, 

That shifts and shines and shines and shifts, 

And never leads our steps aright, 

As phantom -like it scuds and drifts. 

I have been varying that rhyme lately by the 
substitution of “doubt” in the place of “faith,” 
and I think it suits my mood much better ; but 
oh, Mary ! I can’t feel that it is any nearer the 
truth so than it was before. Do you suppose any 
of these people who blame us so bitterly and, as 
it seems to me, so cruelly, have any idea of the 
suffering doubt causes us? Does it ever occur 
to them that it takes more conscience and forti- 
tude to persist in believing as we do than it 
would to return to the old faith? Can they im- 
agine how we long to find the solution of these 
problems that torment us so, and to believe in 
the fatherhood of God and the unending hap- 
piness of heaven? Do they really believe what 
so many of them say, that we refuse to believe 
these things because we want to live a gross life 
without fear of future punishment? They don’t 
seem to think we know that such lives are short 
and wretched ; else how could they imagine us 
so insane as to make such an exchange? Think 
of it ! They charge us with trading off the cer- 
tainty of an eternity of happiness such as flesh 
has never sensed, for the certainty of a wretched 
and hopeless death at the end of a life so pitifully 
brief that the old Hebrew poet compared it to a 


132 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


tale that is told, a life during which, because of 
the laws of this natural world, there must grow 
an oak of pain for every acorn of unlawful pleas- 
ure. Oh, Mary, just think of it ! Such people 
might ornament paganism, but they disfigure 
Christianity. It is not enough to be stretched 
upon this inquisitorial rack of doubt and feel 
its living, fiery pain in every natural sensibility ; 
but these gibbering, mocking hypocrites must 
dance around the sufferer and hiss out such mon- 
strous taunts as this ! Heaven knows I woidd 
recant if I could, just to escape the pain and to 
drive away these Bacchantes of cruelty that, in 
their evolution from barbarism, have dragged 
over into their civilized orgies the same old, 
furious nature which cursed their pagan state. 
Their evolution is still incomplete, or they would 
feel that in the new, calm light of Christianity 
there is really no ray of the lurid fires of torture 
and sacrifice — human sacrifice, too, Mary — 
which made their heathenism hideous. They 
are a beautiful illustration of the theory of evolu- 
tion ; they have passed over into a new species, 
but the rudiments of the old remain, and occa- 
sionally we find among them an example of 
complete reversion to the parent type. 

There, Mary, that is about enough of that kind 
of talk. I am sorry to inflict it upon you ; but 
you are the only one to whom I can talk in that 
way. My uncle and aunt don’t believe in my 
way of thinking at all, and I can’t free my mind 
to them. They are so kind that it would be 
ungrateful ; and besides they are not such people 
as I have been scolding about. They believe it 
all, pretty much; but they don’t believe that one 
who doubts is of course a criminal to be con- 
demned without a hearing. When they think 


EDITH TO MARY. 


133 


they have cornered you with an argument, they 
listen patiently to your reply ; and if you have 
really answered them, they are candid enough 
to admit it. They don’t assume that, because 
you doubt, you must have taken leave of your 
reason, and that whatever you say must be an 
idiot’s drivel; or, granting that you still have a 
reasoning faculty, they do not claim that it is so 
enthralled by Satan as to deal only in Satanic 
sophistries. But here I am raving again. For- 
give me. 

I think the Professor Parker you speak of must 
be quite a wonderful person, and if I were you 
I wouldn’t be a bit ashamed to fall in love with 
him, especially if I thought he would be likely 
to appreciate such a thing. But are you sure 
that you are not just a little in love with him 
now, dear? I suppose it will be just your luck 
to marry some good soul like him who will take 
you all by storm and chain your sympathies and 
affections so tight that you will have neither 
room nor taste for free thought. I wish it might 
be so ; you would not be to blame for that, and 
you would be perfectly happy then. 

What a beautiful sky these Italians have 
over them most of the time ! I think they ought 
to be the brightest and happiest people in the 
world; and I don’t wonder they are so celebrated 
as singers and musicians. The cheeriness of the 
sky has wooed me many a time from the dark- 
ness of my thoughts ; and I think that, if any- 
thing in the world could do it, such a sky above 
my American home, with all the old order of 
things restored, would take away the weariness 
of life which I feel most of the time now. But 
on the whole I don’t like Italy. America is not 
so classic, but it is a great deal more civilized, 


134 


DOUBTING CASTLE, 


according to my way of thinking; and I am 
coming back very soon now to be with you 
awhile, and then — oh, Mary, what? 

Good-by, love. Expect me in two weeks 
from the time you receive this letter. Always 
the same. Edith. 

^^Poor Edith!” said Mary to herself, as 
she finished reading the letter. ‘^She is 
haunted by the same ghosts that are haunt- 
ing me. There is Aunt Judy, for instance; 
she thinks it is no worse to rob a hen-roost 
than to doubt a dogma ; and I rather think 
she has more hopes of the hen-roost robber 
than of the doubter.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


ANOTHER CONFESSION. 

The time was in June ; the place was by 
the sea. The coming sun had long made the 
eastern sky blush like a beautiful rose, and 
now the crimson was melting into flaming 
gold and the upper edge of the sun’s molten 
disk was creeping above the horizon, as Mary 
Temple and Edith Nickerson emerged from 
a handsome dwelling on an eminence over- 
looking the sea and slowly made their way 
towards the beach. Mary’s cheeks glowed 
with generous health and her eyes were, if 
possible, more lustrous than when the reader 
last looked into their liquid depths in her 
Boston home. Edith presented a strong con- 
trast to Mary. She resembled her compan- 
ion in height and shapeliness ; hut her skin 
was as white as marble, while her eyes and 
hair were as black as jet. Her features 
were finely chiselled. The nose was Greek ; 
the mouth was sensitive and affectionate, 
and between its red lips there gleamed at 
times white and delicate teeth. She resem- 
bled Mary in one more respect than in her 
shapely figure ; if she was a beauty, she was 
either ignorant or careless of the fact. At 
the present time the lily-white cheek was 


136 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


almost imperceptibly wan, and there was 
often a sorrowful look in the full, dark eye ; 
but her trouble was plainly mental rather 
than physical ; for her step was firm and her 
carriage graceful. Her voice was steady 
and liquid; and but for the tell-tale face 
nobody would have seemed farther from ill- 
ness than she. 

The two friends soon arrived at the beach 
and began to stroll along the sand, almost 
within reach of the rising tide, each with an 
arm twined about the other. 

“Shall we go to the rock?” said Edith, 
glancing at a huge mass of granite, which 
was tumbled upon the shore just above 
high-water mark. It was familiarly called 
the “Rock.” Its seaward face was quite 
perpendicular, but a winding path from the 
shoreward side gave access to the little 
plateau which crowned its summit, where 
was placed a rustic seat beneath the shade of 
a cluster of bushes which had taken root in 
the scanty soil deposited there by some un- 
known agency. 

“ I’m afraid it is too far for you to walk 
before breakfast,” replied Mary, with a 
glance at her friend’s pale cheeks; “for you 
have hardly had time to recover from the 
exhaustion of your journey ; though I think 
you have improved already, and in a very 
short time you will be as tough as I am.” 

“ I shall be a very ungrateful creature in- 
deed if I don’t improve fast under your 
care,” said Edith. “Well, if you wont 


ANOTHER CONFESSION 


137 


allow me to go to the Eock, you can do me 
one favor that certainly wont injure my 
health.” 

What is it? ” said Mary. 

Edith’s arm twined closer, and bending 
slightly forward, she looked up into her com- 
panion’s face and said : — 

Tell me what it was that filled those eyes 
with tears last night, j ust before you put out 
the light and crept into bed. And didn’t I 
hear just one little sob in the dark after you 
thought I was fast asleep? ” 

A soft blush deepened the color upon 
Mary’s cheek and spread to the roots of her 
hair and to the very fringe of the dainty lace 
collar which nestled against her throat. 

‘^Must I tell you? ” she said. 

“Not if it will pain you,” said Edith. 
“But don’t you think two heads are better 
than one? Perhaps together we can find 
some solace for those tears.” 

“I’m afraid not,” said Mary, with a faint 
smile. 

“ I think that professor of yours has been 
plaguing you in some way ; and if two girls 
aren’t equal to one professor, then I have 
forgotten my table of weights and measures, ” 
said Edith. 

Mary blushed more deeply than before. 

“How did you know?” she said when she 
had found her voice. 

“Oh! I didn’t know; it was only a Yankee 
guess; but was I right?” and Edith looked 
very intently at her friend. 


138 


DOUBTING CASTLE, 


said Mary, in a trembling whisper ; 
whereat Edith’s arm pressed still closer, and 
her lips, close to Mary’s ear, murmured: — 

‘^Tell me all about it, dear.” 

Mary’s only ansy/er was to place in Edith’s 
hand a sheet of scented note-paper covered 
with a delicate female handwriting. 

‘‘Shall I read it?” said Edith, with ap- 
parent hesitation. 

Mary nodded in the affirmative and looked 
off on the water at the sea-gulls and the 
distant sails. Her lips were compressed and 
her eyes were full of a tremulous light like 
that which sparkles in a tear-drop. Edith 
silently unfolded the letter and read : — 

My Darling Mary : I should have written 
you anyway this week, but I have anticipated the 
date two or three days at mamma’s request. She 
has gone to Portland to attend the funeral of an 
aged aunt, and she has desired me to say that 
she has not yet had time to look over the list of 
needy poor that you handed her, but will do so 
immediately upon her return. Of course there 
will be no more sewing circles until after the hot 
weather, and whatever is done for them must be 
with the stock we worked up last winter and 
spring. 

I miss you so very, very much. We all do in 
fact ; and there is one who, they say, misses you 
more than all the rest together, and I don’t know 
as I blame him. But, Mary, his case is getting 
real serious. Some think his mind is giving 
way under it. Not long ago he was seen to come 
out of one of the worst rum-shops in Boston, a 
thing I know he never did before in his life ; but 


ANOTHER CONFESSION. 


139 


his poor father went that way, and there is no 
knowing what he might do if his head was 
turned as badly as some people think. He has 
seemed perfectly inconsolable since you went 
away. I do hope it is not true about his taking 
to drink. Poor fellow ! I am afraid, with his 
parentage, there would be no help for him if he 
once started in that direction. But it may be 
all gossip, Mary; don’t let it worry you. 

We are going to visit Seabright when mamma 
comes back, and I hope we shall find you and 
your friend, and George and the rest, well and 
happy, and ready for any amount of fishing, sail- 
ing, and rowing. 

Charlie wants to be remembered to Miss Nick- 
erson. He says he will come himself and bring 
his regards to you. He is just lovely. I some- 
times wish he wasn’t my brother. I would 
stand as good a chance as any of the rest of the 
girls in that case. 

Well, “nuff nonsense;” good-by; love to 
everybody. 

Your devotedly affectionate friend, 

Ida Goodrich. 

Who does Miss Goodrich mean by the one 
‘who misses you more than all the rest 
together’?” said Edith. 

“Can’t you guess?” said Mary softly, still 
looking off on the water. 

u Professor Parker?” ventured Edith. 

“Yes,” said Mary, in a choking voice, as 
the tears started into her eyes, and the sea 
with its gulls and sails became a tremulous 
blot to her sight. 

“Did you really love him, then?” said 
Edith. 


140 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


Did I?” sobbed Mary. do love him; 
oh, Edith ! I never knew how much until I 
received that cruel letter”; and Mary hid 
her face upon her friend’s shoulder and 
sobbed as if her heart would break. Edith 
stood still and directed her whole attention 
to soothing the unhappy girl. Kissing her 
and putting both arms about her, she said in 
a low voice : — 

^‘Mary, I don’t believe it is half as bad as 
that letter makes out. It is not likely that 
Professor Parker, at his time of life, and 
with his character so well formed, is going to 
let anything of the kind destroy him entirely. 
It doesn’t look reasonable at all.” 

Then how could such a story start?” said 
Mary, trying to calm herself, but with only 
partial success. 

^^Why, nobody knows, I suppose,” said 
Edith. But the queerest reports get started 
sometimes about people, and when they are 
sifted they turn out to be pure falsehoods, 
as far as their superstructure is concerned, 
although there may be a small pebble of 
truth somewhere in their foundation. For 
instance. Uncle Joseph — and you know what 
a strong temperance man he always was — 
was once accused of reeling through the 
streets of our town terribly intoxicated one 
New Year’s night, and I guess a good many 
people actually believed it, in spite of un- 
cle’s well-established character. But when 
the truth came out, it was found that the 
story was started by an enemy of uncle’s. 


ANOTHER CONFESSION. 


141 


who had seen somebody that resembled him 
a little in the state described, and had taken 
pains to say to a notorious gossip that he 
had seen somebody that resembled Joseph 
Nickerson so drunk he could hardly walk.” 

“I’m sure I don’t know who could dislike 
Professor Parker enough to start such a 
story,” said Mary. 

“But,” said Edith, “some thoughtless 
friend could have done it. I once heard of 
a case of that kind, and I am sure it is a true 
one, because I was told of it by a relative of 
the gentleman interested. He was a prison 
inspector and was travelling on a steamboat 
in company with a waggish friend. The in- 
spector observed that his friend was making 
himself agreeable to a number of people, one 
after another, moving from gi’oup to group, 
and conversing briefly with some member of 
each. The gentleman soon noticed that the 
l)assengers avoided him in a marked way, 
and one of them at length dropped a remark 
by which the gentleman discovered that he 
vf as regarded as a genteel ex-convict, having 
about him nobody knew what possibilities of 
victimizing the most wary. It turned out 
that his friend of the funny turn of mind 
had informed almost everybody on the boat 
that this gentleman had seen the inside of 
every prison in the State ; which was true 
in fact, but not as a convict. The story was 
both true and false.” 

“I never knew Ida to tell a falsehood,” 
said Mary after a pause, “nor to circulate 


142 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


idle stories. She seems to believe the story 
herself.” 

“But of course,” said Edith, “it does not 
follow that the story is not false, as far as 
Professor Parker is concerned.” 

There was a moment’s silence, which was 
first broken by Edith. 

“Who is this man with a wooden leg 
coming along the beach?” she said, nodding 
towards the person referred to. 

“Sam Brace,” said Mary. “Everybody 
who comes to Seabright gets acquainted with 
him. He is an old sailor who lost a leg in 
the navy during the rebellion. But he isn’t 
much like sailors you meet or read about. 
He gets a pension that keeps him and his 
dog, and they live together in that house 
yonder,” and Mary pointed out a pretty 
■white cottage that peeped from a mass of 
shrubbery about a mile to the southeast of 
the rock. 

“Good morning, girls,” said the sailor, ap- 
proaching and lifting his cap. 

“ Good morning, Mr. Brace,” said Mary, “ I 
want to introduce my friend, Edith Nick- 
erson.” 

The old sailor’s eye lit up as it rested on 
the beautiful young face of the stranger, and 
extending a great brown hand he said : — 

“Glad to see you in Seabright, Miss 
Edith, and I hope you will come over with 
the other girls and visit me at Storm Cabin. 
I reckon you can sing and give us a lift in 
that way. Oh, by the way. Miss Mary! 


ANOTHER CONFESSION. 


143 


please tell your brother that I shall look for 
him at eight o’clock at the dock. I think 
they will bite well, if we get out there before 
noon. Good morning.” And the old man 
lifted his caj) once more and stumped along 
down the beach. 

“He likes young people,” said Mary, as 
she and Edith watched the retreating figure 
of the sailor; “he and George are regular 
cronies, and I suppose they are going out to 
the reef fishing.” 

“What did he mean about singing?” said 
Edith. 

“Oh!” said Mary, “when there is a good 
lot of us over at the cabin he gets up a 
prayer-meeting and song-service, and calls 
on the girls for the music.” 

“Is that all they do — sing?” said Edith. 

“ No ; as I said before, it is a sort of prayer- 
meeting too, and then sometimes we are 
favored with a sermon.” 

“A sermon! Why, who preaches?” 

“ Mr. Brace ; and it is usually a pretty good 
sermon, too. But if you wish, we will 
make him a visit some evening, and then 
you can judge for yourself.” 

“I surely would like the opportunity,” 
said Edith. “Eobin is looking for us,” she 
continued, nodding toward the little man 
who had appeared in the direction of the 
house on the bluff. 

“Wait for Eobin, sister. Eobin has very 
’portant news, ” cried the child, as he sighted 
the two. He presently trotted up much out 


144 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


of breath, and Edith, catching him in her 
arms, followed up a preliminary kiss with a 
hug which the youngster warmly recipro- 
cated. 

“Well, Eobin,” said Mary, after regarding 
the two for a moment, “ now give us the 
’portant news.” 

“ Oh, ” said Eobin, “ I ’most forgot. George 
has caught a rat, and breakfast is ready.” 
The girls laughed, and Mary said, — 

“No connection, I suppose, between the 
rat and breakfast.” 

“Dunno,” said Eobin; “George caught 
the rat and ’Liza got breakfast. And I 
heard ’Liza tell George she never would get 
breakfast in the world, ’less he caught the 
rat first; and George said then he would 
have to catch the rat; an’ he went and 
caught it.” 

“ How did he catch it, Eobin?” said Edith. 

“With Fido,” said Eobin. 

“ So we are indebted to Fido for breakfast, 
after all,” laughed Edith; and the three 
went up the ascent to the house. 


CHAPTER XV. 


A SHOCK. 

It was yet early in the evening and Pro- 
fessor Parker was deeply absorbed in a paper 
on the sun spots published in a scientific 
periodical, while his mother sat near with 
her knitting. The two little girls, of whom 
mention has before been made, were the 
orphan children of the professor’s only 
brother, who was accidentally killed some 
years before, and whose young wife had 
thereafter died of a broken heart. At this 
moment the children were not in the house, 
but were attending a children’s party at Dr. 
Goodrich’s, given by Mrs. Goodrich in honor 
of Willie’s birthday. Their absence seemed 
to weigh upon the mind of their grand- 
mother ; for presently she stopped knitting 
and looked earnestly at her son. The sound 
of the knitting had hardly ceased when the 
professor looked up and said: “What is it, 
mother?” 

“ Don’t you think it is time the girls were 
home? You know they went away at three 
o’clock this af'ternoon,” said Mrs. Pa,rker. 

“Shall I look them up?” said the pro- 
fessor. 


10 


146 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


‘■‘‘1 do feel anxious about them,” said the 
old lady. 

The professor immediately rose and was 
about to leave the room, when the sound of 
brisk young feet in the hall put an end to the 
grandmother’s uneasiness, and her anxious 
look became one of smiling pleasure as the 
two rosy children entered and kissed her and 
their uncle in turn. They were about to 
retire without a word, when the professor 
said : — 

“Well, children, did you have a good 
time?” 

“Oh, splendid. Uncle Henry!” said Grace, 
the elder sister, “ and there were ever so many 
there; and the whole house up stairs and 
down was open for us to romp through.” 

“ I hope none of the children got into mis- 
chief with so much liberty,” said the grand- 
mother, looking gravely at the two girls, 
who returned her gaze with innocent, wide- 
open eyes ; and the younger one said : — 

“ I don’t think they did. But little Mimie 
Jones came downstairs with a locket in her 
hand — you know, grandmamma, she is only 
four years old — and Ida coaxed it away from 
her, and told me it was one she had seen ly- 
ing on her brother Charlie’s bureau. She 
showed it to me ; it had some pretty hair in 
it that looked like Mary Temple’s; and there 
were some letters on the inside that I couldn’t 
read very well,” the professor had turned 
very pale, but no one noticed it — “ and Ida 
said she guessed Charlie had coaxed her to 


A SHOCK. 


147 


give it to him, he was always going around 
there to see her.” 

The professor rose, and opening the glass 
door to a large hook-case appeared to search 
for something. The children, interpreting 
this movement as an indication that their 
audience was at an end, quietly withdrew 
to the sitting-room, where they were soon 
discussing the pleasures of the afternoon. 
The professor, apparently finding what he 
wanted, took a book from the case and re- 
sumed his reading ; but there was something 
in his manner which attracted Mrs. Parker’s 
notice, and though still vigorously plying the 
needles, she ever and anon glanced anxiously 
in his direction. Presently these detached 
glances merged into a continued gaze, and 
at the same time the knitting ceased. The 
professor did not look up, as he was wont to 
do when the knitting stopped, but appeared 
to be gazing intently at a cut upon the page 
before him. A close observer, however, 
would have discovered that his eyes lacked 
the lustre of purpose, and that he was star- 
ing into vacancy. Mrs. Parker regarded 
him a moment in perfect silence ; and then, 
as if concluding that something of extraor- 
dinary interest held his attention, resumed 
her work ; hut at the next glance, perceiving 
that her son’s eyes were closed, she broke 
the silence with a gentle, “Henry, dear!” 
Henry immediately opened his eyes with 
a heavy sigh and turned them upon his 
mother. 


148 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


“Henry, dear,” repeated the mother, 
“don’t you feel well?” 

“It was only a dream, mother,” said 
Henry, with a faint smile. 

“What was only a dream, Henry?” said 
Mrs. Parker, looking puzzled. 

“Why, the whole thing, mother,” was the 
reply. 

At the vacant manner in which these words 
were spoken, Mrs. Parker’s puzzled look 
changed into one of alarm ; and she said in 
a tremulous voice : — 

“Oh, Henry, dear! what is the matter?” 

Henry smiled again more faintly than be- 
fore and buried his face in his hands. Mrs. 
Parker threw down her work and flew to his 
side, and, gently lifting the bowed head, 
gave one look at the pallid features and 
glassy eyes; then clasping her trembling 
hands she moaned, “God have mercy on 
me!” For an instant the poor woman seemed 
paralyzed with terror ; but as she stared at 
her son’s helpless form there struggled into 
her mind a notion that something ought to 
he done, and she found voice to cry, “ Grace !” 
The child thus summoned sped into the li- 
brary closely followed by Jenny, where both 
children stood for a moment staring alter- 
nately at the inanimate form of their uncle 
and the agonized face of their grandmother. 

“ Oh, Grace, what shall I do?” faltered the 
stricken woman, after a moment’s tomb-like 
silence. 

“Send for Dr. Campbell,” was the quick 


A SHOCK. 


149 


reply. “ I’ll go myself, ” added the girl ; and 
she left the room before Mrs. Parker could 
speak again. 

With her sun-hat in her hand and her feet 
winged with love and alarm, Grace dashed 
out of the front door and down the steps 
and ran headlong into the arms of an elderly 
gentleman with a good-natured smile. 

“Well, my little pigeon, ” panted he, under 
the shock of the collision, “ that was a rather 
precipitate flight — not a homing flight either. 
What ails the little maid? Is grandmamma 
following with a slipper?” and the kindly 
face beamed into the wide-open, troubled 
eyes of Grace Parker. 

“Oh, no, Mr. Anthony! Grandmamma 
is frightened most to death. Uncle Henry is 
so bad,” and the child burst into tears. 

“Bad?” said Mr. Anthony; “I think Un- 
cle Henry is pretty good.” 

“Oh, I don’t mean that 1” sobbed Grace ; 
“I’m afraid he is dead, he looked so white 
and still; and I was running for the doctor.” 

“Oh, run along, then, ’’said Mr. Anthony; 
“ and I will go in and see Uncle Henry my- 
self.” 

Grace continued her flight and Mr. An- 
thony ascended the steps. The servant who 
answered the bell informed him that Mr. 
Parker could not be seen ; but, without pay- 
ing any attention to this information, Mr. 
Anthony pushed by the astonished servant 
and made his way straight to the library. 
Mrs. Parker had partially recovered from her 


150 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


shock and was chafing the limp hands of her 
son while the look upon her face was rapidly- 
deepening into despair. Mr. Anthony gently 
led her to an easy-chair, and then, lifting 
Henry in a pair of strong, steady arms, car- 
ried him to a sofa. In a moment the eyes of 
the patient partially opened, but immediately 
closed again while he murmured, “Was it 
only a dream?” Then the stupor returned. 
Dr. Campbell soon arrived and Mrs. Parker 
rose and stood by his side while he made a 
running diagnosis of the case. 

“Evidently a shock of some kind,” said 
the doctor, after a short examination. 
“There seems to be incipient fever, but we’ll 
try and stop that, ’’and he proceeded to write 
a prescription. 

“ Whom have you to nurse your son?” said 
the doctor, after a brief silence. 

“Me,” said Mr. Anthony, without permit- 
ting Mrs. Parker to reply. 

“Well, then,” continued the doctor, “he 
should be put to bed in a quiet place and 
carefully nursed for some time. Good nurs- 
ing and perfect mental rest will do a great 
deal for him. I apprehend the professor 
has been overworked of late ; but he will be 
as sound as ever in a month or so — if he is 
well looked after.” 

“ I shall not leave him until he is himself 
again,” said Mr. Anthony. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE SAILOR EVANGELIST. 

The little bay at Seabright had a bar 
across its entrance, where the waters of the 
ocean met the outgoing current of a stream 
which meandered down through the high 
ground west and northwest of the town. 
The bar so softened the effect of the ocean 
waves that, except npon rare occasions, the 
surf did not visit the inner beach. But there 
was always a strong surf upon the ocean 
beaches north and south of the harbor en- 
trance, and its ceaseless roar could be heard 
with more or less distinctness upon Nabob 
Hill, where Mr. Temple’s residence was sit- 
uated, and even in the village itself. 

Towards evening of the day upon which 
Mary and Edith took their sunrise walk upon 
the beach, they were both sitting npon the 
eastern balcony of Mr. Temple’s residence. 
The view of the sea from that point was un- 
obstructed. The white wings of the sea-birds 
glanced here and there against the deep blue 
of the sparkling waters, or the softer blue 
of the sky beyond, while the droning mono- 
tone of the distant surf was distinctly audi- 
ble. A few phantom sails hung against the 


152 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


horizon, waxing or waning in their preter- 
natural silence, gleaming snow-white for 
a moment, then imperceptibly fading into 
the horizon, like a philosopher’s luminono 
thoughts, coming and going in the midst of 
an impenetrable calm. 

Each of the girls upon the balcony had a 
book, and Edith seemed interested in her 
reading; but Mary’s book was resting upon 
her lap, while her eyes were turned upon 
the quiet picture before her. The first pas- 
sionate storm had broken upon her and passed 
away ; but there was a sadness upon her 
face which seemed to deepen as the hours 
went by, and which Edith, unnoticed by her 
friend, faithfully and anxiously studied. 

Presently Edith looked up and observed 
the neglected book and the pensive face of 
her companion, and, after regarding her for 
some moments in silence gently rose and 
moved to Mary’s side. The latter was so 
absorbed that she did not notice this action 
on Edith’s part until she felt a soft touch 
adjusting the ribbon which held back her 
hair; then she turned upon Edith a pair of 
serious gray eyes. 

“I think I will write him a letter, Edith,” 
she said. “ He wrote me a little note which 
I received upon the first day of our arrival 
here, begging me to keep him informed as 
to_ my whereabouts, and hinting that he 
might perhaps spend a few weeks in Sea- 
bright later in the summer. ” 

“I certainly should reply to his letter,” 


THE SAILOR EVANGELIST. 


153 


said Edith, “You can tell a great deal 
about the truth of that cruel report by the 
way in which he writes you.” 

“ When I think of it, I can’t believe it at 
all,” said Mary. “He was always such a 
perfect gentleman and so high-minded. I 
can’t believe he is such a hypocrite.” 

“ Nor I, ” said Edith ; “ I wouldn’t lose any 
time, hut write him a note in reply to his, 
and we’ll mail it when we go to the Cabin 
after tea.” 

That evening the streets of the village 
seemed to be full of new faces and figures. 
The weather had been sultry for the last 
week, and many had taken refuge in Sea- 
hright from the heat of the city. The paths 
that led to the various beaches were dotted 
with groups of people. Many were not sat- 
isfied with strolling by the comparatively 
quiet waters inside of the little harbor, but 
took the paths around to the adjacent ocean- 
shore, where the surf rolled wild and high 
upon the sand, and where hardy bathers de- 
lighted to disport themselves. 

Mary and her companions found a good 
number of people going in the same direc- 
tion with themselves, and when they arrived 
at the Cabin they were by no means the first- 
comers. The great dog, Eoland, gravely 
welcomed them at the gate, and Eobin 
promptly mounted him, as he was wont to 
do, and Eoland as promptly trotted off along 
the white-pebble walk which made the cir- 
cuit of the cottage. The girls followed 


154 


doubting castle. 


more slowly and lost sight of the rider 
around a bend in the walk. Before they 
again came in sight of him, they heard a 
gleeful shout followed by an expostulating 
pip from the dog. A few steps more 
brought them in sight of a large field-piece 
astride of which was Eobin, pretending to 
spur on his strange steed in pursuit of an 
imaginary enemy. The faithful Eoland, 
full of solicitude for his charge, had at first 
remonstrated with the reckless young rider, 
but Vfhen he observed the girls approaching’ 
he gracefully relinquished his authority to 
them. 

“See my new horse!” shouted Eobin, as 
he spied the girls. 

‘‘A regular iron horse!” said Edith. 

“It is the alarm gun,” said Mary, as the 
two came close to the piece. 

|‘Look out! he’ll bite,” said Eobin. 

“I don’t suppose it would do an enemy 
much harm, said Mary; “ it is an old-fash- 
ioned thing. But my ! what a noise it makes 
wlpi Mr. Brace sights a ship in distress!” 

“Have you ever seen a ship in distress?” 
said Edith, looking off upon the water. 

“Only once,” said Mary; “but I have 
heard this gun several times upon the Fourth 
of July ; for ^ Uncle Sam, as the hoys call 
him, is patriotic and celebrates with this 
old gun at least once an hour from sunrise 
till sunset.” 

When our party entered the Cabin, they 
found a large company moving about ex- 


THE SAILOR EVANGELIST. 


155 


amining the curiosities in the sailor’s mu- 
seum. The old man was himself present, and, 
welcoming our party with a smile, immedi- 
ately asked Mary in a low voice to lead the 
company in some hymn of her own selection. 
Mary hesitated a moment, hut Edith whis- 
pered in her ear : — 

“Say ‘yes, ’ dear; I’ll play, if he wishes, 
and we will both be in the same boat.” 

Accordingly, with a glance at the sailor, 
Edith seated herself at the organ and played 
the first verse of “Nearer, my God, to 
Thee,” while Mary sang; and one after an- 
other of the company in and around the cot- 
tage took up the tune, and by the time the 
second verse was well under way, the grand 
old hymn swelled forth in a majestic volume 
out across the rolling reaches of upland into 
the open windows of the neighboring village 
and to the ears of the crowds upon the 
beaches ; and that calm, clear, noble melody 
echoed the sentiment of many a weary heart 
that, away from the noisy city and its heated 
and dusty streets, away from the rush of 
ambitious and fevered hosts of scheming 
men, by the untamed, incorruptible ocean, 
fanned by breezes of perfect purity, smiled 
upon by skies undimmed by the smoke of 
commercial fires, felt it was indeed nearer to 
its God. 

Nobody in the company sang with deeper 
feeling than the leader and the organist. 
As she poured out her soul in its earnest 
notes, what a reminiscence that hymn was 


156 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


to Mary! Her simple, trusting childhood 
rose before her. She saw herself once more 
led to church for the first time by her happy 
mother. She heard again the mysterious 
words of prayer and praise. She listened 
once more in awed silence to the minister’s 
solemn voice reading from the Bible; and 
all the angel troops that had gleamed in the 
blue of her childhood skies seemed to float 
before her sight again in the breaking heav- 
ens, and to fill her soul with that unuttera- 
ble longing, so often felt of yore, to be like 
them in purity and beauty and celestial free- 
dom. With a melting heart she sang the 
closing notes, and, when they were finished, 
turned toward her friend at the organ, and 
lo! a tear was trembling in Edith’s eye. 

Prayer followed the first hymn, then sev- 
eral hymns followed the prayer ; and in the 
silence which followed the last one Sam Brace 
made his way through the company, now in- 
creased to a dense throng, and, taking his 
stand in the middle of the room, bowed his 
head a moment in silent prayer and then be- 
gan his discourse. Edith looked with much 
curiosity at the strange evangelist. She 
saw a man considerably above the average 
height, with a massive head set upon even 
more massive shoulders. His features were 
strong, but agreeable in their general effect, 
though at times they discovered an almost 
painful earnestness, which Edith imagined 
had been stamped there by the terrible bat- 
tles at sea in which the old sailor had taken 


THE SAILOR EVANGELIST. 


157 


part. The face was clean, shaven, and Edith 
thought, as she studied the regular profile, 
that it could well afford to be so. Mouth, 
chin, nose, and forehead were of the heroic 
type. The neck was well proportioned, giv- 
ing the impression of great strength and yet 
not of heaviness. These points were strik- 
ing indeed ; but when Edith heard him utter 
the first words of his discourse, she thought 
they were insignificant compared with his 
voice. In the opening sentences, it was low 
and liquid, but audible to the most remote 
listener in the room. As the speaker pro- 
ceeded, it swelled at times like the subdued 
thunder of a great organ, and when for a 
second he touched his highest points of elo- 
quence and emotion, it was so full of irresisti- 
ble pathos as to draw tears to the most stub- 
born eyes; yet when the inspiration had 
passed, it left the auditor wondering why he 
had been so moved. “ This is no ordinary 
sailor,” was Edith’s mental conclusion after 
completing her observations. Her attention 
was soon absorbed in the words which fell 
from the lips of the evangelist. It would be 
impossible to reproduce them with all the 
charm of modulation and manner with which 
they came from the speaker; but perhaps 
some idea of their character and drift may 
be gathered from the following report ; 

“ In the days of Samuel, the Lord said, ‘Man 
looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord 
looketh on the heart’ ; and I do not believe, my 
friends, that the Lord has ever changed in that 


158 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


regard. His works do not change. This is the 
same sea which beat these shores thousands of 
years ago. This sky is the same sky that the 
angels floated through, when the morning stars 
sang together and all the sons of God shouted 
for joy. This earth has never changed. Un- 
der the eye of God it is the same earth, whether 
it was once scattered, a thin gas in the tail of a 
comet, stretching millions upon millions of miles 
across the oceans of space, or whether it has been 
forever this solid ball we tread upon. 

“ Human hearts are the same to-day as the 
first heart that ever beat in a human breast ; 
and human faults make the same ceaseless march 
over the same thorn-fringed and rock-strewn 
path which they began to tread when our flrst 
parents opened their eyes in Eden upon Cre- 
ation’s morn ; and the Lord still looketh upon 
the heart, and not upon the outward appearance. 
Why do we forget that so often? Why do we 
sometimes think that fine clothes and pretty 
manners make us pleasant to our Heavenly Fa- 
ther’s eye, and so forget to cleanse and beautify 
our hearts? Why do we think that to serve 
God aright is to believe some creed and to re- 
peat it with our lips while our hearts are full 
of bitterness towards our fellows? Why do 
we think that to love Jesus is to go to church 
and to say prayers and to sing hymns, while our 
ears are deaf to the prayers of the worthy poor 
and our hearts are full of greed and all manner 
of selfishness ; and while we are trying to out- 
shine our neighbors in dress and worldly show, 
making our own hearts and theirs the abode of 
unkind rivalry? Oh, brothers and sisters, in 
Christ and out of Christ, let us reason together 
upon this matter ! Let us not be deceived by 


THE SAILOR EVANGELIST 


159 


the outward appearance’ but let us also look 
upon the heart. Let us try to take people for 
what they are and not for what they seem to 
be. Let us pay less attention to beautifying 
the body, and more to beautifying the soul ; and 
let us never forget that, however we may cheat 
our fellow-men for a time, we can never cheat 
our Heavenly Father : for his gaze resteth upon 
the heart. Though people may not dress as well 
as we, they may be more beautiful in the eye 
of God ; and if they do not think as we think, 
and do not believe exactly as we believe, still 
their hearts may stand the searching glance of 
God far better than ours. What real difference 
does it make whether one is dressed in broad- 
cloth or cotton, if we can trust him when we 
need his aid? What difference does it make 
whether a head is covered with costly silk or 
paltry straw, if the brain beneath is always cool 
and bright and full of noble thoughts? Give 
me the barren, solid rock, rather than the treach- 
erous bog covered with the loveliest flowers! 
Give me the plainest face that ever reflected the 
image of God from a true heart, rather than the 
face of a seraph hiding the heart of a Pharisee ! 
In the eye of God, the honest Brahmin out- 
ranks the hypocritical Christian. 

Many of us who call ourselves Christians 
look down on those who cannot believe as we 
believe; it makes no difference whether it is 
because they are less reasonable than we are, 
and cannot reach up to our heights of intelli- 
gence, or because they are more reasonable and 
are reaching higher than our strength can climb. 
We are uncharitable and adjudge them heretics. 
But we should pause a moment and think that 
after all, in God’s eye, they may be better Chris- 


160 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


tians than we ; for it is the heart that makes the 
Christian and not the head. 

‘‘Suppose a person cannot believe that the 
tables of stone were actually reached down from 
Heaven by the hand of God himself, amid the 
smoke and thunder of Sinai, has he any less 
need that his neighbors should obey the law. 
Thou shalt not kill? Is there, because of his 
unbelief, less merit in his faithfully keeping that 
law? Suppose one cannot believe that the sun 
actually stood still at the command of Joshua; 
has he any less need that the God of Joshua 
should watch his native land and nerve his arm 
to beat back its foes? And is patriotism less 
noble in him than in the orthodox believer? 
Suppose he cannot believe that any person born 
of a woman was divine ; has he less need of a 
Saviour? And is he less worthy of praise for 
following in that Saviour’s compassionate foot- 
steps? Oh, no, my friends! we are all in the 
same boat, sailing the same sea, believers and 
unbelievers alike. We are all creatures of the 
sorest need, both of help from our fellow-men 
and from our Heavenly Father ; and according 
to the spirit in which each one fulfils this duty 
of ministering to the needs of his fellows, will 
his record be made up in heaven ; and with what 
measure he metes to others will it be meted to 
him again; and tke measure will not be upon 
the low, human standard of quantity, but upon 
the divine standard of the quality imparted by 
the spirit which urges the gift. And in that 
day when we shall stand before the final Judge 
of all, there will be no more deception through 
borrowed finery, whether borrowed from the 
sheep or peacock, or from the manners of the 
great. Neither the robes of Caesar nor the kiss 


THE SAILOR EVANGELIST. 


161 


of Judas shall help us any more, but the false 
and fickle idols of this world shall be broken, 
and we shall give our last account to the God 
of all creatures and all worlds, who hath said, 
‘Man looketh on the outward appearance, but 
the Lord looketh on the heart. ’ ” 

After a short prayer by the sailor and the 
hymn, “Saviour, like a shepherd lead us,” 
the gathering broke up. 

Mary and Edith walked home hand in 
hand in the still lingering twilight, while 
Eobin trotted along, now in front and now in 
the rear, according as the wayside interest 
prompted. The two friends scarcely ex- 
changed words; but there was a deep com- 
munion of hearts going on through the me- 
dium of their joined hands. Each had ob- 
served the emotion of the other at the end of 
the first hymn at the Cabin, and each felt 
deeply impressed by the simple words of the 
earnest old sailor ; and each now seemed to 
feel that, in the other, she had the only liv- 
ing friend who could fully sympathize with 
her present mood. They tarried a moment 
with the rest of the family after reaching 
home, and then went upstairs together. 

11 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE LOOK OP THE THING. 

Mary and Edith sought Mary’s room and 
sat down by an open window. Around them 
was the matchless peace of a seaside gloam- 
ing at the close of a cloudless summer’s day. 
The silver stars shone brighter and brighter, 
as the king of night strode down the East 
and drank up the purple wine of sunset. 
The murmur of the distant surf sounded like 
the rustling of a far-away, wind-stirred for- 
est; and the gentle heaving waters of the 
inner bay here and there caught the sparkle 
of the stars. 

At length Mary spoke, and in a low voice 
unfolded to her friend Professor Parker’s 
theory of the inspiration of the Bible. As 
she went on, Mary could see, in the gather- 
ing darkness, the face of her friend growing 
more and more serious. 

“Did you ask the professor what he 
thought of the fossil men such as the one 
discovered at Mentone?” said Edith, when 
the exposition was finished. 

“Yes,” said Mary, “and he admitted that 
it was probable such fossils had lain where 
they were found for an incalculable length 
of time.” 


THE LOOK OF THE THING. 


163 


“Didn’t he say,” said Edith, “that God 
made the fossils and placed them there, and 
created the deposits above them when he 
made the earth, and then led men to find 
them, just to try their faith?” 

“No, indeed,” said Mary. “He said that 
after all it only proved relative human igno- 
rance and the necessity of revelation. The 
Bible was evidently intended to fit right 
into that necessity ; for he believed that only 
God could have put it into the heart of a 
writer to convey a great general truth in 
such a manner to the rude people for whom 
it was intended. That great truth was the 
truth of monotheism, compared with which 
all other truths sink into insignificance, or 
at least are significant only as they harmo- 
nize with their great principal and make it 
more complete. It seems to me that, look- 
ing at it in that light, the age of the earth 
and the exact period at which man appeared 
upon it, become mere details, which, to use 
the professor’s language, might well have 
been left to the humanity of the writer. I 
think myself it is only fair to look for the 
credentials of the Bible in its effect as a whole, 
and not to go poking around into the smaller 
details for some evidence of the weakness of 
the instrument employed in its writing. 
Gold ore is not thrown away because it con- 
tains here and there particles of earthy mat- 
ter; it only needs the refiner’s fire to make 
its value more apparent than ever. On the 
other hand, the professor believes that some 


164 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


over-zealous people have done harm by un- 
dertaking to fit to the necks of New England 
people in this age the very same yoke made 
for the necks of the Hebrew people thousands 
of years ago ; which, he thinks, is about as 
sensible as trying to make us New England- 
ers wear the same kinds of robes and sandals 
that the Jews wore in Bible times.” 

have sometimes wondered, ” said Edith, 
why such people do not regard all our mod- 
ern churches as a sort of monumental diso- 
bedience of the commands God gave Moses on 
Mount Sinai for building the tabernacle. Of 
course the Bible commandments with regard 
to morals will always be in force ; but if peo- 
ple are going to insist that some of those 
instructions given under peculiar circum- 
stances and for special purposed are to be 
sacred forever, then I don’t see why, for the 
sake of consistency, they don’t treat them 
all alike, and, for instance, make our min- 
isters wear the same garments that God 
commanded the Hebrew priests to wear way 
back in the days of Moses.” 

That sounds almost as if Professor Par- 
ker himself had said it, ’’"said Mary. ‘‘It 
was when he was talking in that same vein 
that he used what seemed to me a very apt 
illustration. He said that these sticklers for 
the letter of the law were like the nurse 
who, when her charge was an imaginative 
child of four or five, found it easy to impart 
a lesson in truth-telling or compassion, or 
any other virtue, by a pretty fairy tale, full 


THE LOOK OF THE THING. 


165 


of gnomes and goblins and fays; but who 
also attempted to do the same thing when 
the child had grown to manhood, and was 
horrified to find that he only laughed at 
such things as fit for children only.” 

“True, ’’said Edith; “only the picture is 
quite incomplete if left there ; for the nurse 
soon forgets her horror in her anger, and, 
stamping her foot, she soundly anathema- 
tizes him who, as a little child, she once 
lulled to sleep upon her breast.” 

“It seems to me,” said Mary, “more like 
the case of the old hen who sits with such 
wisdom in her eyes upon a nest full of duck’s 
eggs, and coddles and covers them with the 
greatest expectations, perhaps fancying her- 
self some day the queen of a little realm of 
perfectly obedient subjects. But what a 
ridiculous figure she cuts afterward, run- 
ning up and down the bank of the pond, 
scolding, coaxing, and shrieking by turns 
to get the ducklings back safe under her 
dear, motherly old wing. Certainly she is a 
very undignified queen. Her castles are all 
in the mud, or rather in the muddy water of 
the pond, and she is playing the fretting 
shrew instead of the majestic ruler. Poor 
old thing ! She little thonght she was hatch- 
ing a brood of creatures larger than herself 
in natural endowments, and as well adapted 
to the water, or better, than to the land. 
She can’t understand it. What is only the 
safe and inevitable course of nature makes 
her very unhappy.” 


166 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


“ I must say I feel dreadfully homesick 
sometimes to cuddle down under the old 
hen’s wing, and be snug and warm again,” 
said Edith. “ This pond of doubt is so dark 
and cold that I get the regular shivers some- 
times. I had a bad attack of them up at the 
Cabin this evening.” 

“ So did I, ” said Mary soberly ; “ and when 
Mr. Brace spoke about the need that every- 
body has of being helped by his fellows, he 
suggested what has been getting deeper and 
deeper into my convictions for some time 
past ; and that is that one argument against 
the religious doubt that is vexing you and 
me is its tendency to keep people from meet- 
ing together as they do at the Cabin and at 
church, and from helping one another in the 
way that Mr. Brace said they naturally 
should. If I might use two long words 
with your permission, Edith — I will light 
the lamp and hand you a dictionary, if you 
desire?” 

“I’ll try and survive them,” said Edith. 

“Well, then, scei^ticism seems to tend to- 
wards segregation and not towards aggrega- 
tion, as everything in harmony with human 
nature and the law of progress should ; so 
that our present condition, while seeming to 
us the result of superior reason, may be the 
result of the lack of it, as I sometimes think ; 
for at any rate it is unnatural, as I said, and 
in the development of human character 
must lead to — another long word, Edith — 
asymmetry.” 


THE LOOK OF THE THING. 


167 


“I hardly understand your philosophy,” 
said Edith, after a silence of some moments. 
I dare say it has a solid foundation some- 
where. But I really don’t see why a doubt- 
ing soul should have fewer natural inclina- 
tions than a believing soul ; and to have an 
inclination is pretty generally to indulge it, 
as far as my observation of myself and oth- 
ers is worth considering ; that is, if it be an 
inclination that is right in itself ; and I think 
the desire we all have for the society of our 
own kind is an inclination of that sort. In 
fact I always go to church, now as much 
as in my believing days ; and I find a great 
deal of consolation in seeing the people, and 
in speaking to those I am acquainted with. 
Our modern churches, it seems to me, are of 
untold value as social exchanges, even though 
they sometimes fail as spiritual schools. 
Then there is another reason which I think 
would draw me to church almost in spite of 
myself; for, sceptic though I may be, I 
have an overwhelming desire to worship 
something higher than myself, and my train- 
ing has taught me to associate that higher 
something with the church and its solemn 
services.” 

The night had become very dark, and a 
glance at the sky showed that the stars were 
nearly all hidden by a thick haze. The wind 
began to blow in at the window in a steady 
current from the northeast. The sound of 
the surf had grown distinct, and there was 
a perceptible murmur rising from the shores 


168 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


of the inner bay. Whether Mary was occu- 
pied in noting this change in the weather or 
was pondering the words of her friend, she 
did not immediately reply. 

“I know you are not silenced, Mary, ’’said 
Edith, after waiting a moment ; “ a little ob- 
servation like that does not usually trouble 
you a great deal.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time I have been 
silenced by your arguments if I were,” said 
Mary, as she gently pinched the delicate lobe 
of a sea-shell ear that peeped from beneath 
a cluster of Edith’s dark, luxuriant curls. 
“ Did you not say a moment ago something 
about feeling chilly in the atmosphere of 
doubt?” 

“Yes; something of that kind; but I be- 
lieve we were talking about the duck pond — 
about water, not about air. It makes no dif- 
ference which, however. I am more than 
willing to confess that doubting is the chil- 
liest occupation I ever was in. I think just 
one little twig from the forest of faith will 
keep a person warmer than a dozen cords of 
wood from the forest of doubt, blow the fire 
as you please.” 

“We agree on that; but don’t you think 
that the cold feeling is a sign that, as one 
of the molecules of human society, you are 
being separated from all the other mole- 
cules?” 

“My ! how scientific you are ! Let me 
see. I believe I have nearly forgotten how 
that molecular theory runs. As the boys 


THE LOOK OF THE THING. 


169 


say, I passed that up during my last year at 
school.” 

‘^Doesn’t it run something like this?” and 
Mary turned her eyes upward and seemed to 
be using all her energies to recall something 
from a far-away corner of her memory. 
‘‘All things are composed of molecules in 
constant vibration. When the vibrations 
are diminished in amplitude the molecules 
consequently come closer together, and ab- 
sorb heat from all surrounding objects. 
When the vibrations increase in amplitude, 
the molecules are forced farther apart, and 
the heat absorbed by the former process is 
yielded up.” 

“That sounds something like it,” said 
Edith. 

“Well, then,” continued the philosopher, 
“don’t you think the reason we both some- 
times feel so chilly is because we are being 
forced from our approximate union with the 
other molecules of society, and so are yield, 
ing up the warmth derived from that union?” 

“It looks,” said Edith, after studying a 
moment, “as if the science which forced you 
into scepticism, now that you have gone far 
enough — not into scepticism, but into the 
marrow of the matter— were trying to force 
you back where you belong. But this is too 
serious a matter to be determined suddenly. 
I think I shall need further evidence that 
doubt is a cause of asymmetry in human 
character before I accept your argument. 
That is good as far as it goes, but I think it 


170 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


would act better as a sort of collateral testi- 
mony in a given direction than as a suffi- 
cient argument in itself. Of course, if it is 
proven that unbelief is a monstrosity, mak- 
ing those who harbor it monstrous too, that 
would be a good argument in favor of belief, 
and, I think also, in favor of the probability 
that there is somewhere a great designer who 
made this so, and is interested in seeing his 
design well carried out.” 

And so, ” said Mary, taking up the thread, 
^^he has placed this penalty of chilliness as a 
natural consequence of going contrary to 
his design. For whether or not the molecu- 
lar theory acounts for the chilliness, we both 
know that it is a consequence of unbelief, 
that it is not natural to be chilly, and that 
death must follow a too prolonged chilliness. 
Hence we infer, as the metaphysicians say, 
that to believe is to harmonize with the de- 
sign, and so with the purpose of the designer ; 
and to approach nearer and nearer to that 
ideal type which embodies perfect strength 
and beauty, and which contains in itself, 
running as it does with the current of all 
forces and counter to none, the principle of 
eternal life.” 

‘^And, conversely, as the mathematicians 
say — you have quoted the metaphysicians, 
you know, and we must have wisdom from 
all quarters,” — and Edith smiled — ^‘unbelief 
is out of harmony with the design and so 
with the purpose of the designer ; it leads 
farther and farther from the ideal ty'pe you 


THE LOOK OF THE THING. 


171 


speak of, and so makes — pardon me for steal- 
ing your word, Mary — asymmetrous charac- 
ter, which, running contrary to all forces, 
contains in itself the principle of eternal 

“Thank, you, Edith; I didn’t think of 
putting it just that way, though I believe it 
is the correct one. Don’t you remember 
that one of our professors told us, during the 
last term, I think, that monstrosities never 
perpetuated themselves? Well, it seems to 
me that your summing up of the whole mat- 
ter states the same truth with regard to im- 
material things. It is strange, isn’t it, that 
two truths relating to two such totally dif- 
ferent things as mind and matter should he 
so exactly alike?” 

“ Strange, but true,” said Edith. “Rain, 
I declare !” she added, holding her hand out 
of the window, palm upward. Who would 
have thought it when we strolled home from 
the Cabin this evening! Well, good night, 
sweetheart” — kissing-— “ dream of me,” and 
Edith disappeared into her own room which 
immediately adjoined Mary’s. 

Mary sat for some time alone at the win- 
dow, musing on the words of the sailor-evan- 
gelist, and listening to the increasing noise 
of the surf, and the subordinate clamor of 
the growing waves that spent themselves 
upon the beach not far away under her win- 
dow. The wind had grown much stronger, 
and as the straggling vanguard of raindrops 
was followed % a whole clattering army. 


172 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


Mary rose and drew down the window. She 
then heard a strain of soft music, which the 
noise without had before drowned. It was the 
hymn Sun of my Soul,” sung so softly that 
the words were not distinguishable, but the 
melody ran with that tender sweetness which 
speaks of a holy peace within the breast of 
the singer. It was quite dark ; for neither of 
the girls had struck a light. As Mary real- 
ized that the singer was Edith, tears started 
to her eyes, and in a moment she was fold- 
ing her half-disrobed friend in her arms. 

^‘My darling Edith!” she murmured, ‘^do 
you feel just as you sing?” 

Answering tears came into Edith’s eyes as 
she returned the embrace. 

‘‘I don’t know, Mary, dear,” she said; 
‘^but I feel very happy to-night, some way — 
happier than I have been before for months 
and months.” 

‘‘I am so glad,” murmured Mary again; 
and with a parting kiss she returned to her 
room. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


A CHRISTIAN HEROINE. 

The wind became more violent. The noise 
of the surf on the ocean-shore grew to an 
incessant roar, while the waves rolled with 
crash upon crash upon the inner beach. Yet 
Mary heeded not the storm. Possessed by a 
deep peace, she lay a few moments after 
retiring lost in pleasant thoughts, and then 
gently dropped into a profound and refresh- 
ing slumber. 

Suddenly she woke. The clock struck 
three ; and at the same moment she heard 
the voice of her brother George calling from 
his room, “Girls, girls!” but the voice was 
for an instant drowned by the boom of the 
great alarm gun at Storm Cabin. “ That is 
Sam Brace,”’ thought Mary; “and there is 
a vessel in distress somewhere” ; which idea 
was immediately substantiated, for George’s 
voice again called, “ Look out of the window. 
There’s a ship afire about five miles off the 
coast. ” Mary instantly leapt out of bed, and 
throwing a counterpane about her, ran into 
Edith’s room. Edith was just opening her 
eyes and trying to get the bearings of things. 

“Edith, dearie,” cried Mary, “let’s look 
out of your window. Didn’t you hear that 


174 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


gun?” and taking the girl’s hand she tugged 
her to a sitting posture, and flinging a coun- 
terpane about her shoulders, said, “Come, 
sleepy eyes, hurry up! Do you hear that?” 
and the report of the cannon again boomed 
out solemnly above the fury of the storm. 
“It’s a ship in distress,” continued Mary, 
“and George says it’s on fire.” Edith was 
now quite awake, and the two girls were 
soon at the window clinging to each other as 
if they too were in danger from the burning 
ship. And, behold, through the driving rain 
they saw a deep red glare at an indefinite 
distance from the coast ! 

“ How dreadful !” said Edith ; “ and no one 
knows what kind of a boat it is, nor how 
many people there may be aboard of her.” 

Again the roar of the cannon made the 
building tremble. 

“Sam Brace is at his post,” said Mary ; 
“ and if he can wake up a crew for the life- 
boat with that gun, he will save some of 
them.” 

Just then the hall door gently opened and 
George thrust in his head covered with a 
rubber helmet, beneath which his black eyes 
shone with an eager, determined light, as 
the girls could see by the glimmer of the 
lantern in his hand. 

“ I’m going over to the Cabin, girls,” he 
said, “ and will bring you all the news when 
I return.” 

“Oh, George, dear George!” cried Mary, 
running to her brother in sudden fright, and 


A CHRISTIAN HEROINE. 


175 


laying her hand upon his shoulder; “don’t 
think of going in that hoat!” 

“ I’m all dressed for it, Mary, ” said George, 
stepping inside the door and removing the 
helmet, which was not yet secured to the 
rubber collar of the life-saving dress of rub- 
ber enveloping his person. “And,” contin- 
ued he, “don’t you think I ought to go if 
they are short-handed?” 

“Oh, George!” was all that Mary could 
say, as she looked at him with wide-open, 
fearful eyes. 

“Mamma’ says,” continued George, “that 
if papa were here, she would leave it with 
him ; but as she must take the responsibility 
herself, she cannot say ‘no.’ 

“Oh, George!” said Mary again; “don’t 
throw yourself away. If there are men 
enough, do let them go instead.” 

“ Of course, ” said George, “I shall want 
to help, not hinder ; and if there is a better 
man than I who will go if I don’t, I will not 
offer to go.” 

“Oh, George!” said Mary, with a choking 
voice ; “ I can’t say ‘no’ either, if it is really 
necessary for you to go.” 

“ Mamma says she has no right to say ‘no, ’ 
in that case. She would rather answer to 
papa for letting me go than to God for keep- 
ing me back,” said George, with a very 
sober face. 

Again the gun spoke through the darkness, 
warning the rescuers to hasten ; and George 
said, with a tremor in his voice : — 


176 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


“Good-by, Mary ; pray for me” — oh, 
could she? — and he kissed her. Then turn- 
ing toward Edith, who had approached and 
had been listening to the conversation, he 
said, “Good-by, Edith,” and extended his 
hand. Edith took his hand, but instead of 
relinquishing it with a formal pressure only, 
she gently drew the youth toward her, 
and, kissing him as Mary had done, whis-' 
pered, “Good-by, my little hero, and God 
bless you !” 

“George,” said a low voice at the door. 

“Yes, mamma,” said George, and Mrs. 
Temple entered the room. She was fully 
dressed and gave no sign of haste or ner- 
vousness. There was a heroic resolve in her 
eyes no less marked than that which they 
had observed in George. She gave one 
glance full of motherly fondness at her hand- 
some, stalwart boy, and then knelt in the 
middle of the room, the three others instantly 
following her example. With one hand rest- 
ing upon her son’s bowed head, the mother 
consigned him to the care of her Heavenly 
Father, while a flood of maternal yearning 
and tenderness burst forth in her closing 
words, “If it is Thy will, bring back my boy 
to the arms of those who love him,” to 
which both Mary and Edith responded 
“Amen.” As they rose from their knees, 
the voice of Sam Brace’s cannon again rose 
with an emphasis that rattled the windows, 
and Mrs. Temple, pressing upon the lips of 
her son a farewell kiss, silently took the hel- 


A CHRISTIAN HEROINE. 


177 


met from his hand and, putting it over his 
head, secured it to the collar, and carefully 
tested eveiy portion of the operation. 

“Thank you, mother,” said George, when 
it was finished ; and then with a final “ good- 
by,” turned and left the room. They heard 
him descend the stairs, open the front door, 
and pass out into the night and darkness 
and shrieking storm. An awed silence fell 
upon the three. In fastening the helmet, 
had the mother fastened her son’s coffin-lid? 

Presently Mrs. Temple, moving to a south 
window, looked out and pointed to a firefly- 
like glimmer wavering across the upland in 
the direction of Storm Cabin. The three 
watched the point of light until it disap- 
peared, and neither spoke. It was George’s 
lantern. 

“Good-night, girls,” said Mrs. Temple, at 
length; “as soon as it is light I shall go 
across to the Cabin in search of my boy,” 
and she left the room. 

“ What a heroine your mother is !” said 
Edith, in a sobbing whisper. “ It is no won- 
der that she has such a heroic son.” 

“George is just like mamma,” said Mary, 
with an answering sob. 

The girls looked once more from the win- 
dow. The glow had spread over a wide 
space, as if the vessel had drawn nearer to 
the shore or had become completely involved 
in the conflagration. The two kept their 
eyes strained upon it, as if it were the eye 
of a serpent and they two helpless birds. 

1 % 


178 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


For an hour longer the ship burned with un- 
abated brilliancy ; then the darkness began 
to encroach upon the field of light, which by 
degrees dwindled to a point, and then at last, 
like the lantern whose light they had seen 
melt in the darkness, disappeared altogether. 

“Oh, Edith!” said Mary, “what will day- 
light bring?” 

And Edith was silent. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


A SAD SUNRISE. 

The storm had passed away as suddenly 
as it came. The broken clouds were hurry- 
ing from the face of the heavens, and a strip 
of clear sky next to the eastern horizon was 
beginning to burn with the heat of another 
summer’s day, when three women, pale and 
anxious-eyed, emerged from Mr. Temple’s 
residence and hastened across the upland in 
the direction of Storm Cabin. 

Near the Cabin some villagers were gath- 
ered about old Sam Brace and a number of 
sinewy boatmen, who had just come from 
the beach in the direction of the ocean. 

“ Do you see anything of them, Mr. Brace?” 
inquired a girl of seventeen, as the sailor low- 
ered a spy-glass with which he had been 
studying the horizon. 

“No, Miss Josie,” said the sailor; “but I 
shant stop looking ; for the boat was short- 
handed by two men, even with George ; and 
the wind worked around enough before it 
fell to drive them farther up the coast. The 
men in that boat were first-class stuff, and 
the boat was the best one in the bay and 
would live where any boat would. We got 


180 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


in right side up, and they ought to do the 
same thing; ” and Uncle Sam raised the spy- 
glass again. At that moment Mrs. Temple 
and her two companions came upon the 
scene and approached the sailor. 

“Mr. Brace, did my hoy go?” said Mrs. 
Temple, and paused; for she read in the 
faces of those aroiand her that her boy had 
not only gone, hut that he had not returned. 

“Yes, Mrs. Temple”; said the sailor, “the 
second boat was three hands short, and 
couldn’t possibly go without another. George 
offered to go and I was obliged to accept 
him, for there was not another man in the 
crowd that was willing to take the risk ; so 
I sent him out in charge of the second boat ; 
and I know that if human brain and muscle 
can bring them back, they will surely come. 
For now that he is not here it will do no harm 
to say, and I do say, that I don’t know that 
boy’s equal for managing a boat of that 
sort.” 

Several of the old sailors who had refused 
to go looked sceptical at this statement, but 
prudently held their peace. 

“I kept track of them on the way out,” 
continued Uncle Sam, “ for they pulled close 
to us, and I never saw a boat better handled 
in such a sea.” 

“Oh, my hoy!” murmured the mother, 
gazing out upon the tumbling sea. Just 
then a soft hand clasped one of her own and 
a subdued voice said, “Aunt Jenny, let’s 
hope to the very last.” 


A SAD SUNRISE. 


181 


“Josie Turner, my dear, dear girl!” said 
Mrs. Temple, as she recognized the speaker 
and returned the pressure with tender inter- 
est. “I shall never give up until I must.” 
But there was an intensity in her manner 
which showed what tortures she was under- 
going. Mary and Edith welcomed Josie 
with a silent hand-clasp. They could not 
speak. Their eyes constantly sought the sea 
whence the loitering boat should come. Sud- 
denly Sam Brace brought his wandering 
glass to bear upon a speck far out at sea. 
The bystanders observed the change in his 
manner and crowded around him in silence. 
After a short inspection he lowered the glass 
and said, “ There she blows 1” 

“ Is my boy really coming, Mr. Brace, ” said 
Mrs. Temple, coming close to the sailor and 
speaking in a low, eager voice. 

“ His boat is,” was the reply, “ and it’s full 
of people and makes very slow headway.” 

At this statement, an idea seemed to seize 
one of several yachtsmen who stood near, 
an idea which bore good fruit ; for within 
half an hour three or four trim little pleas- 
ure yachts were scudding toward the en- 
trance of the harbor. The crowd silently 
watched them as they passed out of the nar- 
rows and laid their course toward the distant 
speck. For the next two hours our party 
remained almost perfectly silent watching 
the yachts as they neared the struggling 
boat, and listening to Sam Brace as he told 
of the final distribution of its passengers 


182 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


among the rescuing party, and the start on 
the shoreward journey. 

It was not so with the wives of four of the 
absent sailors . Their lamentations had been 
piteous until the discovery of the returning 
boat, when their joy became as demonstra- 
tive as their grief had been before. They 
appeared not to reflect, as did the friends of 
George Temple, that their loved ones were 
not yet restored to their arms, and that the 
night and the tempest might not have left 
them unscathed. The only relative of the 
fifth absent sailor present in the crowd was 
his mother. In silence, but with tearful 
eyes, she had listened to the words of Sam 
Brace until the discovery of the boat. Then 
her tears stopped flowing, but her face still 
expressed that mortal anxiety which none 
hut a mother can feel. Whether by chance 
or drawn by some mystic cord of sympathy, 
she had taken a position within a few feet 
of Mrs. Temple. 

One after another the yachts made up to 
the landing, while the four wives pressed 
down in the forefront of the eager crowd 
towards the spot; but Mrs. Temple and her 
party remained upon the outside of the cir- 
cle, and near them still stood that other 
silent, and all but tearfully anxious, mother. 

The sun had long since risen, and as the 
passengers of the first coming yacht disem- 
barked, it shone upon seven strange faces, 
deeply furrowed with the suffering of the 


A SAD SUNRISE. 


183 


past night. Some of them had no shoes ; 
all were bare-headed, and the garments and 
hair of one of them showed marks of fire. 
He was the captain of the burned ship, who 
had made a vain attempt to save his log and 
instruments in the cabin. The others were 
a portion of his crew. They were all Eng- 
lishmen. 

The faces of the four wives clouded again. 
Their husbands were not there ; and in si- 
lence, but with straining eyes, they awaited 
the landing of the next arrivals. Just the 
faintest tremor was visible about the mouth 
of Mrs. Temple, and the intense look deep- 
ened as her gaze became riveted upon the 
approaching yacht. 

One after another eight strangers landed 
from the second yacht, all of the same gen- 
eral appearance with those who had preceded 
them. They were the mate and seven more 
of the crew. The four wives were in agony 
at the non-appearance of their husbands, and 
their inability to learn anything about them. 
Two of them began to weep ; the other two, 
with compressed lips, watched the third yacht 
approaching upon her last tack. 

It would be impossible to describe the 
countenance of Mrs. Temple. Mary and 
Edith held one of her hands and Josie Tur- 
ner the other. The eyes of the latter were 
almost starting from her head, as they were 
strained upon the next yacht, which was just 
sweeping up to the dock. All necks were 


184 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


craned to see who were on board, and a shriek 
of joy rose in chorus from the four wives, as 
the four missing husbands were descried 
upon the vessel’s deck. The strange mother, 
almost at Mrs. Temple’s elbow, gazed eagerly 
upon the group assembled there, hut her old 
eyes were evidently not able to see the fifth 
sailor, and a look of terrible despair was form- 
ing upon her face when the crowd parted, 
and she was encircled in a pair of strong 
arms, while a pair of manly eyes beamed 
upon her from a bluff and sun-browned 
face. 

“ Oh, Jack ! ” was all she could say, as she 
sank in his arms, trembling in every fibre. 

“That’s Jack Hart,” said one stranger to 
another. 

“ Where was George Temple? Perhaps in 
the cabin ; hut why did he not come out and 
relieve his mother’s suspense. He surely 
was not in the crowd. Ah ! he is with the 
last yacht flying up the hay with the life- 
boat in tow. But she does not head for the 
landing. What a suspense ! She is lower- 
ing sail and dropping anchor upon the old 
ground. A groan escapes Mrs. Temple, but 
still her gaze is frozen upon the yacht. Its 
crew board the life-boat tender and pull for 
the landing. Is that George seated in the 
stern? It looks something like him. But 
no ; he moves forward and takes an oar ; his 
dress proves that he is not George. Oh, mer- 
ciful Heaven ! can it be ! Will her hoy never 


A SAD SUNRISE. 


185 


come back? The mother turns deathly pale ; 
a quiver comes to her lips ; an uncontrolla- 
ble trembling to her limbs. The crowd parts 
again; Sam Brace strides toward her; his 
step is measured, his face inexpressibly sol- 
emn. With an agonizing groan, the mother 
swoons in the arms of her daughter. 


CHAPTEE XX. 


JOSIE. 

On the afternoon of the day which opened 
with the rescue of the English sailors, a group 
made up of about equal numbers of seamen 
and landsmen was gathered at Scorm Cabin 
discussing the events of the day and compar- 
ing notes. 

“It made me dreadfully sorry,” said Sam 
Brace, “ to ship George in the second boat, 
but I had raised the last man that would go 
when I called on him. I couldn’t blame any 
man a great deal for not wanting to take his 
chances against that sea, if he had a wife or 
mother depending upon him. It hasn’t 
stopped running yet,” — glancing first at the 
bay which was still agitated and then at the 
open sea, where the white-capped waves were 
yet dancing. “ I had a sort of notion that 
George would be sure to come back — surer, 
may be, than one of you rough sticks who 
have lost the plush from your faces. And 
I can hardly give him up yet; though I 
don’t see how in the world he could have 
escaped — and the old man slowly brushed 
away a tear. “Any way, if he were my 
boy, though I could have wished it might 
have been otherwise, and that the lad could 


JOSIE. 


187 


have come back and borne his honors in this 
world, yet I should thank God that he had 
the courage to face such danger on such an 
errand. I never saw a cooler head, nor a 
stancher nerve, nor a better heart in any- 
body, old or young. When we got out there 
in that boiling sea and had fished around so 
long without finding any one, I thought the 
reasonable thing was to give it up, and so I 
put back and came ashore with my crew like 
Roland there, when he can’t find the stick 
the child has flung too far out in the surf. 
But this little fellow stuck to it, and his crew 
stood by him like men, and while all the 
furies were howling in the wind, and the sea- 
monsters were humping the water into lumps 
bigger ’n that hotel,” — nodding toward the 
village — “they fished around until they 
ran against those fifteen poor fellows hug- 
ging those hen-coops and spars, and brought 
them ashore, to go back safe and sound to 
their wives and mothers and sweethearts. 
But the brave little man who brought it all 
about gave up his life in the operation, and 
didn’t come back to the best mother that 
ever lived.” 

Tears stood in the old sailor’s eyes, and he 
did not try to hide them. 

“I tell you, boys,” he continued, “that’s 
contrary to nature, and when a man does it 
he has got something in him that’s not of 
this world.” 

The audience was silent and seemed of the 
same opinion which prompted these words. 


188 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


Just here a light step was heard and a soft 
voice at the door said : — 

“Mr. Brace.” 

The sailor stepped to the door and Josie 
stood before him. 

“Mr. Brace,” said she, “will you please 
take me in your boat around on the shore 
outside the bar?” 

“With pleasure,” replied the sailor; and 
without asking any questions of the girl or 
making any explanations to those he was 
leaving behind, he seized his cap and heavy 
jacket and led the way to the landing, helped 
Josie into the sail-boat, hoisted sail, and 
started for the entrance of the bay without 
once breaking silence. He saw by the girhs 
face that compliance with her request meant 
a great deal to her ; for the old man sus- 
pected something of the extent to which she 
was affected by the blow just received by the 
Temple family, knowing the fact that she 
and George Temple had been inseparable 
friends almost from babyhood. The maid- 
en’s eyes were red with weeping; and yet 
there was in them now the light of a new- 
born hope. 

“Mr. Brace,” — after twenty minutes of si- 
lence, — “ I can’t give George up yet ; and that 
is why I want you to sail around a little 
way outside with me.” 

“I can’t give him up either,” said the 
other, “and I’m glad you came for me. I 
shall feel better cruising around outside 
looking for some sign of him, than I would 


JOSIE. 


189 


talking with those chaps there in the Cabin. 
I don’t know as I blame them, but if one of 
them had gone in his place, there might 
have been no such happening. You know 
how it happened, don’t you” — with a glance 
at the pale face of his companion. 

“No, sir, ’’she replied; “I only know that 
the dearest friend I had in this world didn’t 
come back,” and the eloquent tears welled 
into the full, dark eyes. 

“Why,” said the sailor, “he fancied he 
caught a glimpse of another raft riding the 
waves still farther off, — the boy had already 
pulled several miles around the wreck, — and 
he stood up to take a better look, and a lurch 
of the boat sent him overboard ; and at the 
same time an oar on the starboard side got 
smashed somehow, and it was some time be- 
fore they got things righted, and when they 
did they couldn’t see a sign of him anywhere. 
The sea made such a noise, of course they 
couldn’t make him hear, if he was still afloat, 
nor he them ; and after pulling around an 
hour or so, they headed for the shore. That 
was what made them so late about get- 
ting in.” 

They had passed the harbor’s mouth and 
were now scudding on the open sea, and 
the sailor, after a brief silence, during which 
Josie was straining her eyes in all directions, 
said : — 

“I think we might better cruise to the 
north a little and keep a bright eyes to sea- 
ward. The wind changed into the southeast 


190 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


just before daylight and before it got around 
into the west, and it may have carried his — 
that is, ’’coughing a little, ‘‘whatever he was 
clinging to up that way.” 

Both sailor and maiden kept a constant 
watch seaward far and near. Two or three 
times a dark object quickly appeared upon the 
crest of a wave, and as quickly passed out of 
sight, filling the girl’s eyes with a wild, hope- 
ful light. But the hope was followed only by 
disappointment, as a closer inspection re- 
vealed a piece of driftwood, or a mass of 
dark rock-weed detached by the late storm. 

“Oh, there, Mr. Brace, what is that?” sud- 
denly exclaimed the girl. 

The sailor looked in the direction indicated 
and saw an object so different in appearance 
from those previously discovered that his 
countenance immediately assumed an expres- 
sion of deep interest, and, putting his tiller 
over a point, he headed directly for it. Josie 
kept her eyes fastened on the object with an 
interest too painful for words to express. 
For ten minutes they fiew along in total si- 
lence save for the dash of the waves against 
the prow of the boat and the creaking of the 
mast in its socket under the strain of the 
fresh breeze and the buffeting, contrary sea. 
At length, as they neared the object, Sam 
Brace seemed to recognize its true character, 
for his interest relaxed somewhat, though he 
still ran on. 

“It’s a ship’s boat, bottom side up,” said 
he, with a furtive glance at his passenger. 


JOSIE. 


191 


A moment later, as they shot by the over- 
turned boat, the sailor scanned the lettering 
upon the stern. 

“The Petrel,” said he; “that’s what I 
thought. That’s one point gained.” 

Josie questioned the speaker with her eyes. 

“Because,” continued he, “it shows that 
we are in the drift of the wreck, and may 
find something more of the same sort.” 

Josie hardly seemed to share the sailor’s 
sentiment in that respect. Successive dis- 
couragements were affecting her spirits, and 
something of despair appeared in her tearful 
eyes. The sun was not far from the western 
horizon, and night must soon put an end to 
the search. Still, with a loyal love that knew 
no quenching, swallowing the sobs that were 
rising in her throat, and crowding hack the 
rising tears, the girl kept faithful watch. 
They were now scudding straight to the 
northwest, having cruised for many miles 
to the northeast of the harbor entrance, and 
the coast was not far away. The tide had 
turned against them and, combined with the 
opposing wind, was causing their little craft 
to jump in mounting the waves. 

All at once the tireless eye of the maiden 
discovered an object which somehow, in 
the trough of the waves, had escaped her no- 
tice until the boat was alrqost upon it. 

“Look out, Mr. Brace!” she cried, and the 
sailor sheered out just in time to pass upon 
the starboard side the hatch of a ship ; so 
sudden was its appearance, and so swiftly 


192 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


did the sail-boat pass it, that neither the 
sailor nor his lookout could make out what 
the two dark objects were upon its surface. 
The boat was quickly put about and run 
toward the hatch, and a single glance suf- 
ficed to show that the two objects were hu- 
man figures apparently lashed there. 

“Here, Josie, take the tiller,” cried the 
sailor, apparently forgetting formalities in 
the excitement of the moment. 

Josie was at the sailor’s side in an instant. 

“Hold her just so,” ordered he again, in 
a tone which he might have used to the cox- 
swain of a man-of-war’s boat at the height 
of an exciting conflict. 

Josie obeyed with so much earnestness 
that it almost forced the blood through her 
white fingers, while the sailor seized a boat- 
hook and drove it with all his might into 
the edge of the hatch which they were just 
passing at full speed. To pass the boat- 
hook, thus fastened, to the stern of the boat, 
which was now scudding before the wind, 
and to fling the kedge so as to catch in a 
great staple in the hatch, and by means of 
the kedge-rope to fasten it securely to the 
great ring in the stern of the sail-boat, was 
the work of but a few' seconds. Then run- 
ning forward the sailor lowered the sail and 
secured it, thus allowing the boat to drift 
slowly before the wind and easing the strain 
upon the tow-rope ; then telling Josie still to 
keep her just so, he leaped upon the hatch 
and, cutting the ropes which held the two 


JOSIE. 


193 


inanimate bodies in position, lifted each in 
turn and deposited it in the bottom of the 
sail-boat. 

“Oh, Mr. Brace!” gasped Josie, “are they 
dead?” with a shuddering look at the fig- 
ure upon the right of the centreboard, which 
was enveloped from sole to crown in a rub- 
ber armor. 

“There’s no telling. Miss Josie,” replied 
the sailor soberly, laying back the wet gar- 
ments from the upper portion of the other 
figure, and revealing the fair, white face of 
a boy of fourteen. Shuddering again Josie 
looked away, and a great silence fell upon 
her heart. She could neither find strength 
to look in that direction nor to ask any ques- 
tions. 

“ He is still living, ” said the sailor, after 
feeling the pulse and listening for the heart- 
beat of the unconscious lad. Josie could bear 
the suspense no longer, and she said in a 
husky, broken voice, “ Is it — ” 

“No,” said the sailor, “it is a pretty boy 
of about a dozen years.” 

At these words, with a strange mixture of 
heart-sinking and reassurance, she glanced 
timidly at the still, white face. 

“Hitch the tiller just as it is. Miss Josie,” 
said the sailor, “ and get that rubber helmet 
off of the other one’s face, and give him 
more air, while I try and bring this young- 
ster to,” and he proceeded to chafe the 
youngster’s hands, while Josie turned to 
obey his order. She worked away at the 
13 


194 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


buttons until they were all free, and then 
gently removed the helmet. She had hardly 
glanced at the regular features of the young 
face before her when, with a great sob, her 
head fell forward upon the silent figure, and 
the stormy tears broke from her in a pas- 
sionate torrent. The sailor was at her side 
in an instant, and putting his lips close to 
her ear he whispered, “ Don’t give up yet. 
Miss Josie; ten to one he isn’t dead,” and he 
felt of the young man’s pulse. Josie in- 
stantly ceased weeping. Presently Mr. Brace 
said : — 

“It’s just as I thought. He isn’t dead. 
They are both exhausted and chilled by this 
wind, and they have probably shipped some 
water; but their chances are good. Chafe 
his hands. Miss Josie,” and the sailor re- 
turned to the other patient, while Josie 
obeyed his last order. Stripping off the wet 
gloves, she took each cold hand in turn be- 
tween her soft, warm palms and rubbed it 
vigorously. Her efforts were quickly re- 
warded. A pair of dark eyes opened and 
looked at her in a bewildered way ; then a 
glimmer of intelligence followed, for the lips 
murmured, “Where am I, in heaven?” 

“No, George, I hope not,” said Josie 
softly. 

“I’m so cold,” whispered he again. 

In an instant the girl had torn off his cold 
and wet rubber coat and had tucked around 
him her own warm, woollen jacket. At 
this moment Sam Brace said : — 


JOSIK 


195 


‘^This boy doesn’t show many signs of 
coming to just yet. I’m afraid he’s a 
goner.” 

^^Oh, Mr. Brace!” cried Josie in a whisper 
close to the sailor’s ear, ‘‘ George has opened 
his eyes; but he is so weak; haven’t you 
just a spoonful of brandy somewhere?” 

Right in that locker there. Help your- 
self. We must cut for home, and get them 
both to bed as soon as possible.’’ 


CHAPTER XXI. 

DARKNESS STILL. 

George Temple was sitting in a large easy- 
chair, with his feet propped up in front of 
him. His face was pale and somewhat thin ; 
but his eyes were bright and cheerful. His 
mother was sitting close by. She was a lit- 
tle paler than usual and a trifle worn, but 
nevertheless serene and happy. 

“I don’t know to whom I owe the most, 
mother,” said George, ^^you or Josie.” 

‘^To Josie, I think,” was the reply. 

‘^Of course, if Josie had not stirred up 
Uncle Sam to flsh me out of the sea,” said 
George, would not be here now; but the 
doctor told me this morning that nothing 
but the best of nursing saved me. So I think 
I am right in dividing my gratitude equally 
between you.” 

There was silence for a moment, when 
George said : — 

‘‘Has Uncle Sam been here lately?” 

“Yes, he was here last evening; and he 
said that Jimmy Stratton was anxious to call 
and thank you for saving his life. Poor boy ! 
He says he has no relatives left in England, 
and he does not know where his uncle iii this 


DARKNESS STILL. 


197 


country is. Mr. Brace says he is an affec- 
tionate boy and does everything he can to 
show his gratitude. He has learned to han- 
dle the skiff very well indeed, and is fast 
learning how to sail the boat.” 

“ His father and mother were both on the 
hatch when I climbed upon it,” saidGreorge; 
“and I sometimes think that if I hadn’t got 
on there with them, they would not have 
been lost overboard ; yet neither of the three 
was lashed when I found them, and the 
chances are they would all have been lost 
without lashing. The rope was handy, and 
it was while I was lashing Jimmy that his 
father and mother were both washed over- 
board by the same wave. It carried me into 
the sea too, but I had hold of the rope that 
I had already passed around the boy and 
made fast to the hatch, and so I pulled my- 
self back again. I had to hold Jimmy down 
by main force and lash him there then, or he 
would have jumped into the sea after his 
father and mother. As near as I could j udge 
by their voices and the way they talked, they 
were refined people ; and as far as I could see 
Jimmy’s face at daylight, it confirmed the 
impression as to the kind of people he be- 
longed to. But I have not seen him since 
dawn of that morning ; for I lost my bear- 
ings very soon after that and knew no more 
until I found myself in bed here with you 
looking at me, — though come to think of it, I 
believe I did once dream that I was in hea- 
ven, for I thought Josie was smiling at me.” 


198 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


“ I hope your idea of heaven may never 
change,” said Mrs. Temple, smiling. “You 
were right in your impression of Jimmy. A 
few days ago I walked over there with Mary, 
and Mr. Brace introduced him to us. He is 
a pretty, hlue-eyed boy, with curly, flaxen 
hair ; and there is a great deal of real reflne- 
ment in his face. Mr. Brace said he was 
going to keep him as long as he could, and 
he hoped the boy’s uncle would never come 
to claim him.” 

“ Mother,” said George, after another short 
silence, “don’t you think that Mary is look- 
ing too pale for her? Isn’t she worrying 
about something or other, I wonder?” 

“Have you noticed it?” said Mrs. Temple. 

“Yes; and I thought once or twice when 
she came in here that she had been crying.” 

Mrs. Temple seemed thoughtful and anx- 
ious, but did not reply. She moved to the 
window which overlooked the lawn on the 
north side of the house where Mary and 
Edith were playing croquet, and stood some 
time studying the movements of her daugh- 
ter. There was a strong contrast between 
the respective girls. Edith waited for her 
turn attentively and seemed gratifled when 
it came ; her step was light and quick, and 
occasionally she broke into delighted laugh- 
ter at some turn of the game. Mary’s man- 
ner was the opposite ; for she moved slowly 
and never laughed. Several times Edith 
reminded her twice that it was her turn 
before she noticed it. Mrs. Temple returned 


DABKNESS STILL. 


199 


to her lace with a troubled brow. She con- 
tinued her work some moments in silence, 
during which George appeared to doze in 
his chair. At length her hands dropped 
into her lap, and she gazed toward the open 
window as if listening. Was it that she 
might happily hear the voice of her daughter 
Joining in the laughter with which Edith 
was ever and anon making the air melo- 
dious? If so, she was not gratified. Pres- 
ently George opened his eyes, and, after 
studying his mother’s face for some mo- 
ments, said: — 

“Are you thinking about Mary, mother?” 

“Yes,” — slowly — after a pause, “George, 
I want your help and I want you to get 
well as quickly as possible.” 

“I’m well now,” said George eagerly. 

“No, my hoy; you are not strong enough 
to stand a Journey to Boston, but I hope you 
will he by this time next week.” 

“I certainly shall he, mother, if you say 
so. See!” and he put his feet upon the floor 
and stood erect. 

“Not too fast, George!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Temple anxiously. 

George sank hack in the chair and leaned 
his forehead on his hands. 

“Why?” he panted, looking very white, 
“ I’m not as strong as I thought for. But 
when I get over this dizziness I shall try it 
again.” 

A moment later Mary and Edith entered 
the room. 


300 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


“ How does my brother do this afternoon ? ” 
said Mary, 

Ohj first-rate, ” said George. “I’m going 
to Boston next week on a regular spree. 
What do yen think of that?” 

Mary smiled faintly, but made no other 
reply. 

“By the way, George,” said Edith sud- 
denly, “ have you looked out of that window 
lately?” — pointing to a window in the south 
side of the room. 

“I rather think not, ’’said George, looking 
down at the weak legs which had so recently 
failed him. 

“Then you are not posted,” said Edith. 
“Such a fine looking young man, with a 
handsome black mustache, as I saw get out 
of a carriage at the Suffolk’s yesterday. 
He was very weak as if he had had a fit of 
sickness; and his guardian was with hm, 
and — ” 

“Was he under age, Edith, that he should 
have had a guardian?” said George, looking 
innocently at the young lady. 

“ Of course not. I meant his keeper, and—” 

“Did they bring his cage with him?” 

“No, no; I meant his nurse, and — ” 

“Oh! trundle-bed trash, was it?” 

“George Temple, you know what I mean; 
his companion — ” 

“His wife! Why, Edith, I am shocked 
that you should think of flirting with him.” 

“No, ’’said Edith, blushing a rosy red, and 
becoming instantly serious; “but really, the 


DARKNESS STILL. 


201 


gentleman was evidently ill, or just recov- 
ering from illness ; for he had an attendant ; 
but the attendant was either the gentle- 
man’s father or some one near to him, as 
I should judge by the way they treated each 
other. And besides the attendant was very 
fine-looking himself, and I should think in 
the neighborhood of sixty.” 

At this moment Robin entered the room 
and handed to Mary a small box and a let- 
ter which had evidently just come from the 
post-office. 

Thank you, Robin,” said Mary; ^^how 
useful you are growing to be ! Did you go 
to the post-office all alone?” 

^^Yes,” said Robin, except Fido. We 
went together.” Then he climbed upon a 
round of the easy-chair and laid his curly 
head upon his brother’s shoulder. 

The letter was as follows : — 

My Darling Mary : I hope you will pardon 
my negligence in not sending you before the 
locket which I mail with this letter. It prob- 
ably became unpinned and slipped from your 
throat during oar last sociable, as Charles found 
it upon the floor near the sofa upon which you 
had been sitting with Professor Parker. I kept 
it for a while, expecting to see you at our house ; 
and then it slipped my mind entirely until I 
chanced upon it in my bureau-drawer this 
morning. We are coming to Seabright in a 
week or two to spend part of the summer, and 
I am anticipating great pleasure from meeting 
you and the rest of your folks again. 

We were all much interested in reading in 


202 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


the daily papers about the brave rescue by Sea- 
bright people of the crew of the Petrel. What 
a hero young George Trimble was! If the 
name were not so different, I should almost 
think it was our George. It was just like him. 
All join in love to you and yours. 

Your devoted friend and well-wisher, 

Adeline Goodrich. 

After reading this letter, Mary thrust it 
in the space between two of the buttons at 
the front of her waist, and opened the box. 

It was Saturday evening. Mr. Temple 
was down from Boston, and he and Mrs. 
Tenaple sat together at the tea-table after 
Eobin had gone upstairs to keep George com- 
pany, and Mary and Edith had gone for a 
walk. After a long conversation in an 
undertone, Mr. Temple became so much in 
earnest that his words became audible. 

“It is a cruel position to place a girl in,” 
he said. “ It would be impossible to invite 
the professor here, under the circumstances ; 
and it is equally impossible to anticipate this 
conspiracy by telling him that they have 
been ly — I should say, scandalizing him in 
Mary’s ears, and that she is not flirting with 
Charlie Goodrich and never has been. Al- 
together it is the most diabolical business I 
ever heard of a minister’s wife being con- 
nected with.” 

“Yet, you know, husband,” said Mrs. 
Temple, “it is not on her own account, but 


DARKNESS STILL. 


303 


on her son’s, if on anybody’s, that she has 
taken this course.” 

“ But that cannot excuse her conduct, ” said 
Mr. Temple. 

“ Only a mother can know what she would 
not be tempted to do for the happiness of her 
son, and she does not know how far she 
might go under provocation, ” said Mrs. Tem- 
ple, as her dark eyes overflowed with tears. 

“You are my heroine, Jenny,” said Mr. 
Temple. “You sent your own son to almost 
certain death in the general cause of hu- 
manity.” 

Mrs. Temple had risen and moved to her 
husband’s side, and as he drew her upon his 
knee, she bowed her head upon his shoulder 
and sobbed. Her husband put his arms 
gently around her and waited for the sob- 
bing to cease. This was the first time the 
mother had shown any signs of such emo- 
tion since her son had been brought in from 
the sea, unconscious and apparently dying. 
For nearly a week she scarcely left his side, 
and only surrendered her post to Mary for a 
few hours at a time during the first days of 
returning consciousness. Her nerves had 
apparently never flinched. But now, at the 
mere mention of the danger which she had 
faced so heroically, she broke down and wept 
like a schoolgirl. 

Such is woman — a strange composition of 
impossible opposites ; of trembling cowardice 
and unquailing courage ; of exquisite timid- 
ity and rugged bravery. In her nature, the 


304 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


equator seems to pass through the poles ; for 
the blooms of summer mingle with the blasts 
of winter. In her, the openness of day alter- 
nates with the deep mystery of night, and 
heaven’s cloudless hope with hell’s unmiti- 
gated despair. 

Mary and Edith had loitered on the lawn 
and played a game or two of croquet, in 
order that Edith, as she herself said, might 
get an opportunity to pay Mary back for 
allowing herself to be so badly beaten dur- 
ing the afternoon. The result was the same 
as before, and Edith at last dropped her 
mallet in despair and said : — 

“Mary, why don’t you try to knock the 
ball straighter? You used to beat me so 
easily; and now I can’t contrive to get you 
to beat me at all. ” 

“You have improved, Edith, I suppose, 
and I have arrived at the age at which im- 
provement is impossible,” and she tried to 
smile. 

“ Which statement, seeing I am two years 
older than you, is most imposingly paradox- 
ical, ’’said Edith. “And now, young lady,” 
—putting her arm around her friend and 
drawing her towards the gate,— “just make 
a clean breast of it and tell me whether 
that graceless professor is still breaking your 
heart.” 

“I’ve had no reply to my note of three 
weeks ago,” was the response. 

“ Well, suppose you haven’t? There are as 
good fish in the sea as ever were caught, and 


DARKNESS STILL. 


205 


since you have once known the luxury of a 
lover, I advise you to fill that aching void as 
soon as possible. I’ll help you, I declare, 
and take you right down under the young 
gentleman’s window, whom I saw land at 
Mrs. Suffolk’s the other day.” 

“You forget that his guardian is with 
him,” said Mary, with a faint smile. 

“I’ll take care of his guardian,” said 
Edith, with an arch look which made Mary 
smile again, as she followed her friend 
along the sidewalk in the direction indicated 

“ There he is !” exclaimed Edith, in a whis- 
per, as they were passing Mrs. Suffolk’s ; “do 
look at him. He is as handsome as a pic- 
ture, and so pale and interesting!” 

He was, indeed, as handsome as a picture ; 
and Mary’s heart gave a great hound as she 
recognized in the stranger a striking likeness 
to Professor Parker. The girls passed on 
and the young man gazed after them, appar- 
ently as much interested as they had been. 
Presently a rather stout elderly gentleman 
joined the young man on the veranda and 
the two sauntered to the sidewalk and took 
the same direction which the girls had 
taken The young man had gone but a few 
steps when he observed a neatly folded sheet 
of notej)aper lying in the middle of the walk. 
He picked it up, and, perceiving that it was 
a letter apparently written by a lady, placed 
it in a large memorandum-book and pro- 
ceeded on his way. 

The girls had turned towards the beach 


306 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


and were now hidden from view by a rise in 
the ground. The two gentlemen kept slowly 
on, apparently much interested in conversa- 
tion and taking little thought of their direc- 
tion. It was after sundown, and across the 
level sea the moon was rising full, and the 
low headlands upon either side of the har- 
bor’s mouth stood out black and silent 
against the mellow sky. A heavy swell had 
been setting upon the coast all day and 
had made itself apparent within the bay by 
an occasional breaker, which curled and 
tumbled at an unwonted distance above the 
usual line for the time of tide. 

As the gentleman approached the rock, 
they saw against the sky the figure of a sol- 
itary person resting upon the rustic seat, 
and the figure of a young lady descending 
the rock toward the south side. The latter 
turned once or twice in her descent and 
seemed to be urging the other person to join 
her ; but not succeeding she went on alone. 
The gentlemen approached quite close to the 
rock unperceived by the occupant of the rus- 
tic seat, possibly because too much pre-occu- 
pied to observe them and possibly because a 
great wave had just struck the beach and 
for the time drowned all other sounds with 
its uproar. Soon the sound of a rich, thrill- 
ing, soprano voice, in the first measures of a 
song, caused the gentlemen to pause, while 
the younger one exclamed under his breath, 
“Is it possible that she is here!” 

The song ran thus : — 


DARKNESS STILL. 


207 


“ O gleaming, gloaming, glimmering sea ! 
O waves that world-wide roam, 

And breaking here, complain to me 
From banks of moonlit foam ! 

O heights of heaven ! O depths of earth ! 
O star-bound, glittering skies ! 

But say to me whence has its birth. 

This thing that in me cries. 

And longs for light, and yearns to hold 
The truth, whate’er it be. 

And craves the secret you enfold, 

O earth and sky and sea ! 

The answer comes in deep refrain 
From all things high and low ; 

No water to a higher plane 
Than its own fount may flow. 

“ Why dost thou burn with such desire 
To scorn this law’s control? 

Earth is thy dam, the sun thy sire. 

Thou foolish mortal soul ! ” 

O fatal truth ! my sickening soul 
Doth feel thy poison here. 

And see in earth from pole to pole 
Its cradle and its bier. ” 


At first, the voice alone seemed sufficient 
to entrance the listeners, hut as the song pro- 
gressed they were more and more attracted 
by its burden. 

“Pure materialism!” exclaimed the older 
gentleman, as the last note was sung ; while 
a deep cloud settled upon the younger man’s 
face, and he held his peace. At that instant 
the sound of oars was faintly heard, and 
above the murmuring of the sheets of water 
and foam flowing from the beach as part of 


208 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


the last breaking wave, rose a clear alto 
voice : — 

“ Beyond the smiling and the weeping — ” 

Here the voice was interrupted by an in- 
terposing swell, which came rapidly from 
the beach and broke. As the approaching 
boat rose upon the crest of a wave, the bell- 
like voice was again heard : — 

Love, rest, and home ! 

Sweet hope ! Lord, tarry not, but come !” 

“ Pure faith !” exclaimed the younger man, 
and the two looked at each other, apparently 
struck by the strange coincidence by which 
the second song came like a providential 
answer to the dark, despairing strain with 
which the first closed. 

Presently a skiff ran up to the beach and 
from it leaped a boy of fourteen. 

“Good evening, Jimmy,” said a voice 
from the rock. 

“Good evening. Miss Temple,” responded 
the boy. “ I declare you will save me the 
trouble of climbing the rock, if you will toss 
down the bundle there under the seat. 

“With pleasure,” said Mary, reaching for 
the bundle. 

“Uncle Sam left it there this morning 
and forgot it until a little while ago,” ex- 
plained the boy. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

IS DAWN AT HAND? 

The next day was Sunday. The pulpit 
of the village church was supplied by a 
stranger to the people of Seabright; but 
when Edith saw him ascend the platform 
she nudged Mary and whispered, “ My young 
man’s guardian!” Mary thought she had 
seen him before, and when he announced the 
opening hymn she was almost certain she 
had heard the voice before, but where and 
when she could not then recall. But it 
might be a mistake ; for she seemed filled 
with vagaries anyhow. Just as the clergy- 
man was finishing the invocation, a ponder- 
ous female native of Seabright came wad- 
dling in with a prodigious rustle of ample 
garments, and seated herself in range of 
the clock, whose great, moon-like face was 
surrounded by the usual gilt moulding. 
Mary soon conceived the notion that the big 
woman had been translated to the wall and 
was owling down at her through the face of 
that clock. She pinched herself to bring 
her mind back to the solemnity of the ser- 
vice, in which, as a matter of fact, she was 
taking part ; for at that very moment she 
14 


210 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


was singing “ Coronation” in company with 
the rest, and with such effect that a number 
of people in her neighborhood twisted their 
necks to get a sight at her. All at once the 
choir leader, who was no other than Sam 
Brace, heating time with the regularity of 
clockwork, assumed to her vision the aspect 
of a schoolmaster cuffing a disorderly scholar, 
and, despite the fact that the minister 
was calmly seated at a distance from the 
chorister, which made such a thing impossi- 
ble, he took the character of a reprobate 
youngster, who, detected in some schoolboy 
depravity, was taking his punishment in 
grim silence. Down rained the blows ! first 
on top of his devoted head. Smack ! he took 
it on his right ear. Crack! his left ear caught 
it. This was repeated many times, until sud - 
denly the motion of the chorister went to the 
background, and, to Mary’s torment, chor- 
ister and minister became completely mixed. 
They appeared so much alike that she could 
not tell them apart, save when the gray 
side-whiskers of the minister for a moment 
made a distinct impression upon her. There 
was the same square, massive head; eyes 
of precisely the same color ; the same heavy 
eyebrows; the same full chin and expres- 
sive mouth ; the same carriage of the head ; 
and the same width of chest. Mary could 
not convince herself that the minister was 
not the chorister in repose, and that the 
chorister was not the minister in action; 
and she thought she now had an answer to 


IS DAWN AT HAND? 


211 


the question she had jDut to herself a short 
time before, as to where she had ever heard 
that minister’s voice. The answer was, In 
Sam Brace’s cottage. 

Mary was so conscious of the vagrant char- 
acter of her fancies that she expected to see 
this illusion dissolve and to realize the fact 
that the minister and chorister were to- 
tally unlike ; but when it not only refused to 
dissolve, but became exaggerated so as to 
impress her with the belief that there were 
not two persons concerned in it, but only 
one in two different phases, she became so 
frightened for the stability of her mind that 
she elbowed Edith and whispered in her ear, 
^^Is that Sam Brace seated behind the pul- 
pit?” Edith turned upon her friend a pair 
of wondering eyes as this insane question 
was put. Seeing that her questioner was in 
earnest, she replied, Yes, if that’s the min- 
ister leading the choir?” 

Well, it is, isn’t it?” queried Mary, with 
so much earnestness that Edith, half believ- 
ing that her friend’s melancholy had at last 
turned her head, fixed her gaze upon the 
chorister. After studying him a moment, 
she replied : — 

don’t believe you are as crazy as I 
thought, unless I’m as crazy as you are. 
They do look almost exactly alike.” 

Yes,” said Mary, ^^they are twin broth- 
ers ” ; and when she had come to this conclu- 
sion that peculiar evil spirit took its flight 
and the illusion ceased. Her attention now 


212 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


wandered from the minister and fastened 
itself upon the figure of a rather tall, well- 
formed young man with dark hair, who was 
facing the pulpit a number of seats in front 
of her. Suddenly the mania returned, and 
she now saw before her Professor Parker. By 
this time the poor girl was so well convinced 
that she was the victim of mania that she shut 
her eyes, and when the hymn was ended 
sat down and kept them shut for half an 
hour, or until the minister was in the 
middle of his sermon. She had tried to hear 
nothing and to forget everything, so as to 
recuperate her faculties. She thought these 
vagaries indicated insanity. She succeeded 
well in her resolution to hear nothing ; but 
suddenly in spite of herself the ears of her 
understanding were opened and she listened. 
The sermon at this point ran thus : — 

The intellect should be the servant and not 
the master of the sensibilities ; but the stronger 
this servant is without becoming the master 
the better for the master. Where the sensibili- 
ties are entirely subordinate to the intellect, the 
beauty passes from life, and such great virtues 
as heroism, magnanimity, and patriotism dis- 
appear. This breeds the species of dead-rot 
which destroyed every great civilization before 
the coming of Christ. Luxury succeeded fru- 
gality; cynicism extinguished patriotism; and 
scepticism religion. To a great extent, the cul- 
tivation of the finer sensibilities became ne- 
•glected for the cultivation of the naked intellect. 
The enervated body degenerated to a mere 
sensorium tickled with the straws of carnal 


IS DAWN AT HAND? 


213 


pleasure ; and, no longer able to defend its own- 
er’s country against the barbarian, it soon 
became that barbarian’s chattel. And so a 
nation fell. 

Thus national disintegration followed forma- 
tion with no power to stay the result. It 
appeared to harmonize with a law as definite 
as that observed by the tide after it has reached 
its highest point. But Christ introduced the 
principle of eternal human progress, the father- 
hood of God and the brotherhood of man, pro- 
claiming that God hath made of one blood all 
the nations of the earth. 

Here the preacher paused, and Mary felt a 
gentle pressure upon her arm, as Edith en- 
deavored to assure herself that her friend 
was listening. The minister resumed : — 

And now national life may defy the cycles 
of time, nay, the eons of eternity! For the 
God-fearing, Christ-loving nation that is faith- 
ful to this principle shall survive the final 
earthly cataclysm and be transplanted beyond 
the veil, to endure forever beneath the smile of 
its great Master Builder. 

Edith here whispered: ^^Your molecular 
theory with interest,” and in musing upon 
the words just spoken, Mary for a moment 
lost the run of the discourse. The next 
words which attracted her attention were 
these : — 

There is no antagonism between the theory 
of Christianity and that of the unbroken reign 
of law. ISTo natural law has been suspended; 
but the discovery is made of an immanent 


2U 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


divine law, in accordance with which all thing's 
work together for the good of them that love 

•iu human race comes into harmony 

with natural law, and hence with the divine law 
of which it is a part. The heavenward course 
becomes easier and progress upon it more swift. 
Ut old tho lightning was terrible to man, with 
no beneficent aspect; nowit aids the intercourse 
of mmd with mind. In like manner, that prin- 
ciple which once caused stagnation and dead-rot 
in the ^ nation and forced it apart from its 
cementing brotherhood, and left death where 
by this divine principle of 
Christ, will accelerate and not retard the march 
of progress. 

When the benediction had been pro 
nounced, Mary stepped mechanically into 
the aisle and moved along with the outgoino" 
current, and was lost to view before Edith 
was aware. As the latter was about to go 
m quest of her friend, she felt a hand upon her 
shoulder and, looking around, beheld Josie 
turner accompanied by a young gentleman 
. “Wait a moment, Edith, pleasf,” said Jo^ 
sie, adding, m an undertone, “would you like 
me to introduce Charlie Goodrich? You 
have heard Mary speak of him. He is 
^Ireadfully nice.” 

Edith consented and the introduction was 
duly made, but as soon as propriety would 
permit she excused herself and hastened 
away in quest of the truant Mary. Charlie 
Goodrich looked after the young lady^s re- 
treating figure and exclaimed, in a whisper, 
Isn’t she splendid!” and Josie smiled. 


IS DAWN AT HAND 9 


215 


Edith soon arrived at the door opening 
into the vestibule, and almost immediately 
discovered the object of her search leaning 
against the wall at a point about half-way 
to the church entrance from the inner door. 
Mary’s eyes were apparently closed while her 
forehead rested lightly against the tip of her 
fan. There was an almost ghastly pallor in 
her face, which so alarmed Edith that she 
hurried to her side and, touching her softly, 
whispered, ^^Mary.” Mary did not seem to 
hear, and Edith repeated the movement and 
accompanied it with the words, ^^Mary, dear, 
what is the matter?” At this the young 
lady opened her eyes and gave her anxious 
friend a bewildered look. 

Nothing much,” she said; ‘‘only I am 
feeling so weak and strange.” 

During the entire afternoon Mary was 
the victim of a depression which Edith was 
unable to dispel ; and the latter, after fail- 
ing in her twentieth attempt to do so, retired 
to her room for a good cry. 

The sun had gone down and twilight was 
advancing when Edith tapped gently on 
Mary’s door. “Come in,” said a low voice; 
and entering Edith found her friend seated 
at the open window with a Bible in her lap, 
open at the Psalms ; and, taking a seat beside 
her, gently pressed her hand but said noth- 
ing. The pressure was returned in silence. 

“Edith,” said Mary at length, in a weary 
voice, “you have been very kind to me to- 
day and I have been as unkind to you.” 


216 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


indeed,” responded Edith, “you have 
not been unkind ; you have been sick. But 
you are better now, aren’t you, dear?” 

“ I think I am, ” said Mary ; “ those foolish 
notions that possessed me in church have 
gone away, for the present at least, or else ” 
— smiling faintly and wearily — “I should be 
mistaking you for an angel — ” 

“That would be a ^mistake,’ ” said Edith. 

“Or some other impossible thing,” contin- 
ued Mary. “But, Edith, will you tell me 
something without laughing at me?” 

“ Of course I’ll tell you all I know with- 
out laughing at you ; but I guess you would 
laugh at its littleness.” 

“Then,” said Mary, with an effort, “will 
you tell me whether or not you saw Profes- 
sor Parker at church this morning?” 

“I didn’t see him,” said Edith, “did you?” 

“Yes, I am very sure I did,” was the re- 
ply, “so sure that I saw him that, if I really 
did not, my place is in an insane asylum 
and not here,” and there was so much pathos 
in the speaker’s voice that sympathetic tears 
sprang quickly to Edith’s eyes. 

“ I certainly did see him, ” continued Mary, 
“as I was coming out of church. He came 
straight toward me but did not raise his 
eyes, and there was such a hopeless look on 
his face as he passed me that it haunts me 
yet; and somehow I haven’t been able to 
get rid of the notion that he had seen me and 
knew I was near him, and yet — he wouldn’t 
speak,” and a sob blocked Mary’s utterance. 


IS DAWN AT HAND? 


217 


For a moment the unhappy girl struggled 
with her emotions, and Edith, at her wits’ 
end for a word of comfort, glanced at the 
open Bible. Her eyes fell upon the 69th 
Psalm and the words, — 

^‘Save me, 0 God; for the waters are 
come in unto my soul. I sink in deep mire, 
where there is no standing : I am come into 
deep waters, where the floods overflow me. 
I am weary of my crying: my throat is 
dried : mine eyes fail while I wait for my 
God.” 

Mary perceived the direction of Edith’s 
glance and said : — 

‘‘1 thought nobody ever could have suf- 
fered as I was suffering and had suffered for 
weeks past; but I opened that Bible, and 
the first words I saw were those that you 
see ; and then I knew that David, at least, 
had suffered as I did, for those words seemed 
to me the very ones I myself would have 
used, if I had been able to express my feel- 
ings in such language. And, Edith, you 
don’t know how much comfort there was in 
feeling that I was not the only one who had 
been so afflicted. My Bible will always be 
my greatest treasure hereafter, except the 
picture that I showed you in my room in 
Boston. It will make no difference what the 
wise say about the inspiration of the Bible. 
The time will never come when those words of 
David will not breathe inspired music to me. ” 

Mary was becoming quite calm, and after 
a pause she continued : — 


318 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


I believe it was tlie good cry I bad when 
I first read those words that cleared my mind 
and drove away those hateful illusions that 
vexed me so in church. Do you know, 
Edith, for the past week or so I have had 
the strangest feelings? If my head had been 
stuffed with cobwebs instead of brains, I 
could have thought just as clearly. The 
ground seemed to reel like a boat on a 
long swell. That’s all gone now, and I be- 
gin to feel something like myself again ; but 
— I don’t believe — I shall ever be happy 
again.” And the tears flowed afresh. 

“How strange it was, ’’said Edith, after 
a pause, “that the minister this morning 
should have taken the same line of thought 
that you took the other day with regard to 
the brotherhood of man. It carried the idea 
a little further and made it apply to the whole 
race for all time ; but it was really the same 
idea which you expressed when you gave 
me that lecture on the molecular theory.” 

“Yes,” said Mary; “that was my idea. 
As soon as the heat of the human heart is 
absorbed, by cold science or otherwise, then 
comes the big word I used before, ‘ segrega- 
tion, ’ and jwogress is done for. Christian- 
ity, with its Golden Eule, seems to teach 
pretty much nothing else but the brotherhood 
that the minister told about. The Beati- 
tudes all look that way, and the Epistles 
have it as their burden; and when you look 
at it candidly the Christian church is now 
laboring steadily along that principle.” 


IS DAWN AT HAND? 


219 


“It seems to me,” said Edith slowly, as if 
awaking from deep thought, “that there 
must be something higher than coincidence 
in these three things: Uncle Sam’s sermon, 
your own observation with regard to the 
human molecules, and the sermon this 
morning. They all point in the same direc- 
tion, and yet each occurred independently of 
the others.” 

“It is very singular,” said Mary, “that 
these two serihons, preached from texts in 
the Christian Bible, should have reached the 
same conclusion to which I was led by sim- 
ple experience with the laws of nature. 
There is a singular harmony between nature 
and revelation.” 

“Don’t you think there is too great a har- 
mony to result from chance?” said Edith, 
with deep earnestness of countenance. 

“It looks like design,” said Mary, “and 
the demonstration of it just at this time 
seems to me almost like a special dispensa- 
tion for our benefit. Oh, Edith ! what shall 
we do?” 

“Wait for more evidence, perhaps,” said 
Edith ; “ for if it is a special dispensation 
it will not stop short of its object, and we 
shall see more of it. But however that may 
be, I am certain there is a design in creation, 
no matter whether or not I am able to see 
that design with just the same eyes which 
others have.” 

“Do you mean to say,” said Mary, “that, 
in addition to this conclusion which you 


220 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


have with regard to design, that you will 
also believe in a special supervision of human 
affairs by the Great Designer, provided the 
evidence is continued?” 

“Yes, that’s just what I mean. I shall 
not resist the fatherhood of God any longer, 
and I shall go back to my prayers and 
my Sunday-school class, oh, with such de- 
light!” 

“ But that wont make those Bible stories 
any easier to believe than they ever were, 
will it?” 

“Yes, I think it will. If God ever inter- 
feres in human affairs, he is able to do it in 
any way that suits him best, no matter 
whether or not it looks I'easonable to us poor 
humans. ” 

“Yet, Edith, that wont settle the question 
as to the probability of God’s acting in just 
the way that human writers have repre- 
sented him to act. The old, old question 
would come up again as to whether or not 
God would be likely to insult our reason 
after having bestowed it for our guidance. 
He has himself created a standard for us to 
use in earthly matters : would he be the one 
to substitute another standard without recon- 
structing our natures to fit it?” 

“No, I think not ; that is, another stand- 
ard for use in our ‘earthly matters. ’ Seeing 
that we are made so as to believe that two 
and two are four, I don’t think God would 
substitute an order of things under which 
two and two would he five, without chang- 


IS DAWN AT HAND9 231 

ing US accordingly. But, once believing in 
the fatherhood of God, I think it will be 
comparatively easy to sort out human error 
from divine truth; and as it is the truth 
that we desire to find and that desires to 
find us, we needn’t trouble ourselves about 
the error. There was never a locomotive 
built that was not once coarse ore, mingled 
with all sorts of impurities; but that fact 
makes the perfected locomotive upon the 
track no less powerful. It hauls us with 
just the same speed and certainty to our 
far-off destination as if metal of which it is 
made had been discovered in a perfectly pure 
state and had never needed the refining fire. 
So we may trust this enginery that is evi- 
dently designed to bear us safely through 
life and beyond it into a better world. The 
same Great Mechanic that designed the 
engine has refined the ore with which to 
build it.” 

“ I don’t think you quite understand me, 
Edith. You said you would return to your 
Sunday-school class ; and it immediately 
struck me that you couldn’t teach little chil- 
dren the story of Jonah, for instance, with 
any better conscience than you ever could. 
I think as you do about the indications of 
design in our lives, and with only a little 
more of the same kind of proof I shall be 
forced to believe that you and I are being 
taught, whether we will or not, that God is 
a father to all his creatures. But if we be- 
lieved in the fatherhood of God, don’t you 


322 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


think that would make one more reason, and 
the strongest one of all, why we should re- 
fuse to teach human error?” 

“ Rather more than less reason, of course, 
Mary; the Bible itself says, ‘Prove all 
things : hold fast that which is good, ’ and 
that would be a pretty good rule in such a 
case. But if we cannot understand some of 
the minor things ourselves, that is no sign 
that they may not be true. Believing in 
the fatherhood of God — as we may, yet — 
what would he more reasonable than to be- 
lieve the,t he taught his children of old by 
real fairy tales, in the same way that par- 
ents now teach their children by fictitious 
ones?” 

Mary was silent as if thinking. 

“Is it a very hard question?” said Edith, 
at length. 

“I think I see what you mean, Edith,” 
said Mary; “belief in the fatherhood of God 
includes about everything else ; and one 
would be justified in teaching the story of 
Jonah with the view you take of it, which 
is, I think, that that story illustrates more 
vividly the fatherhood of God than it could 
be done in a prosaic way.” 

Shortly after this conversation, upon de- 
scending to the parlor, the young ladies 
found Josie Turner and Charlie Goodrich 
awaiting them. George had not yet retired, 
and the party soon gathered in his room. 

“Well, my son,” said Charles, with a pa- 
ternal air, addressing George, “you thought 


IS DAWN AT HAND? 


223 


you would rather stand your chance of feed- 
ing the fishes than to stay here among so 
many attractions” — glancing gallantly at 
Mary and Edith — “and so put to sea in an 
open boat and in a heavy gale, did you? 
Well, it is high time I came down to look 
after you; though” — looking at Josie — “I 
seem to have been pretty well represented in 
my absence.” 

“Yes, ’’said George, “Josie had better grit 
than most men would have had, and ” — 
soberly — “I certainly would have fed the 
fishes if it hadn’t been for her.” 

“Oh, George!” said Mary, shuddering, 
“don’t let’s talk about it!” 

“That’s what I say,” said Josie, 

“Well, ’’said Charles, “I suppose George’s 
conduct can be attributed to a species of 
temporary aberration of mind, or perhaps 
better an absence of mind, such as I saw 
Professor Parker exhibit one day when he 
rushed headlong into a liquor saloon instead 
of the music store he thought it was.” 

“How was that? ” instantly asked Edith, 
with a sudden and inexplicable interest, as it 
seemed to several of the company; while 
Mary held her breath and dropped her eyes 
into her lap. Charles told the story with 
about the same detail he had employed in 
telling it to his mother weeks before, much 
to the merriment of the company, with the 
exception of Mary, who was very pale and 
sober. 

“Murder will out!” exclaimed Edith; 


224 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


^‘perhaps his feet had carried him there so 
much with the consent of his head, that they 
carried him there sometimes with its disap- 
proval.” 

Oh, no !” cried Josie, Charles, and George 
in chorus, and Charles continued : — 

Professor Parker is one of the strictest 
temperance men in Boston. 1 doubt if he 
ever drank so much as a glass of lager beer 
in his whole life. One of our fellows, just 
for a joke, he said, asked the professor to 
drink a glass of beer with him — it was only a 
week or so ago — and he actually feared he 
would have to fight the professor or beg his 
pardon upon the spot. He never saw any- 
body so much hurt at such a trifle ; and he 
got the idea that Professor Parker was a 
regular crank on the subject of temper- 
ance.” 

But,” persisted Edith, ‘^with all defer- 
ence to Professor Parker, I certainly have 
heard it said or seen it stated that he was 
getting to be dissolute and that he indulged 
too freely in alcoholic beverages.” 

Oh, Edith ! ” exclaimed Josie, who could 
have told you such awful stuff?” 

Whoever told you that, or wrote it to 
you, or in any way insinuated such a thing 
with regard to Professor Parker, is, with- 
out qualification or mitigation, a slanderer,” 
said Charles. 

Oh !” said Edith, “I’m very glad to hear 
you say so. I considered my authority for 
the statement very high indeed ; but now I 


IS DAWN AT HAND? 225 

suppose I must set down the person who 
made it as a base falsifier.” 

You certainly must,” said Charles, ‘^and 
I am glad it was my good fortune to hear 
that statement and my privilege to pro- 
nounce it false.” 

When the visitors took their departure, 
Josie was the last to leave the room and close 
the door on George ; and nobody saw her put 
out her hand and give George’s a parting 
squeeze, nor heard her whisper, Get well 
as soon as you can, and be ready for more 
rambles on the beach”; nor saw the rash 
young man thus addressed bend reverently 
and touch with his lips the hand he reluc- 
tantly released. Nobody saw any of this 
save the two most intimately concerned ; 
yet it actually happened right there within 
earshot and eyeshot of three or four exceed- 
ingly proper young persons. 

15 


CHAPTEE XXIIL 


DAWN, 

After George’s departure for Boston, Mrs. 
Temple anxiously looked for a letter, for ev- 
ery day seemed to deepen the hopeless ex- 
pression on Mary’s face and the prostration 
of her spirits. A letter shortly came, from 
which a few extracts follow : — 

I called on the Goodriches last evening. 
They received me very cordially. I think Ida 
has grown wonderfully pretty in the last year, 
don’t you? (Don’t tell Josie I think so, for I 
don’t mean to compare Ida with her.) She 
said a good many nice things about my adven- 
ture in the boat, and if I had been fancy free, 
who knows but I might have fallen heels over 
head in love with her ! And Mrs. Goodrich was 
just too sweet for anything. She kissed me 
and said I seemed like one of her own children ; 
and she, too, spoke of the boat adventure and 
said she was proud of me. The doctor is the 
same good old fellow as ever. He took me by 
the hand and said that in just such deeds as 
that — the boat business again — consisted the 
true nobility of life ; that it was not necessary 
to have a storm and a burning ship in order to 
show one’s devotion to the Master; it could be 
shown every day in a hundred ways. The life 


DAWN. 


227 

of a true Christian was only a series of self- 
sacrifices. He said a great deal more that I 
don’t remember ; but it was all good and just 
like him. He did not praise me as the others 
did, but I liked what he said a heap better. Of 
course I had seen Charlie but a few days ago at 
our house. He has been coming down so regu- 
larly lately that I began to wonder which of the 
girls he found so fascinating. I found out to- 
day when he asked after you people ; for what 
do you think was the first thing he said? How 
is Miss Nickerson?” I was talking with hi^ 
mother at the time and he thought I did not 
notice it ; for he immediately asked after Mary 
first, and then after Edith. But that’s what 
the high -school boys would call ‘^too thin.” 
Mrs. Goodrich seemed quite put out, and if I 
had not pretended not to notice it, I don’t know 
what kind of a training she would have given 
poor Charlie right on the spot. No matter how 
I had been cutting up, I never in the world 
knew you to look at me as she looked at him 
for just a quarter of a second. 

I found Professor Parker away from home, 
but his dear old mother was there, and she 
entertained me for more than an hour chatting 
in the happiest possible way. Had you heard 
of the professor’s illness? I wonder why the 
Goodriches did not mention it? I suppose 
Charlie’s head is too full of Edith when he is 
at our house to think of so trifling a thing. Any- 
how, the professor has been very, very sick. 

So the letter ran on with much more of a 
similar character, and with some surprises, 
to judge from Mrs. Temple’s countenance 
as she read. She had hardly finished when 


238 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


Mary entered the room, and eimply remark- 
ing, “A letter from George,” Mrs. Temple 
placed it in her daughter’s hands. After 
reading several pages, Mary suddenly 
flushed, and said : — 

“George is right, mamma; the young 
lady whose life Professor Parker saved was 
I.” Mrs. Temple’s only remark was an 
ejaculated “ My daughter!” and Mary con- 
tinued the reading. All at once she ex- 
claimed : — 

“ How in the world can such a wicked, 
scheming woman, a minister’s wife too, hold 
her place among decent people. She is no 
better than those English kings who stabbed 
their own relatives right and left to make 
their crowns secure I If she keeps on with 
her heartless scheming, I hope she will some 
day get her deserts. ” 

Mary’s face was all aglow ; her eyes were 
shooting fire, and she looked very much like 
a tigress at bay. And yet only five seconds 
before her expression was tenderness itself 
and her cheek was mantled by the blush of 
conscious affection ! So true is it that love’s 
mellow moonlight is first cousin to the hell- 
fire of hate. 

Mrs. Temple looked surprised and Mary 
melted into tears. 

“ It is hard to see how the wrong can be 
righted,” said Mrs. Temple, when Mary had 
become calmer, “ but I am sure it will be ; 
never doubt that, Mary”; and kissing the 
disconsolate maiden she left the room. 


DAWN. 


229 


Mary’s head was resting upon her hand, 
her eyes cast down, and dejection expressed 
in every feature. 

^^You are here, are you — having a good 
cry?” suddenly said a voice, and looking up 
Mary encountered Edith’s dark eyes looking 
down at her with deep concern. 

^^Yes,” confessed Mary, and her tearful 
face confirmed the confession. 

What’s the matter, dearie?” — twining 
an arm about Mary’s neck from her perch 
upon the girl’s lap. 

^^The plot thickens. My poor little locket 
was made to figure as a gift from me to 
Charlie Goodrich, and my father’s hair was 
passed off for mine ; and the professor be- 
lieved it. Think of it, Edith!” and the gray 
eyes filled again. ^^That explains some 
things that were a puzzle before. The pro- 
fessor was here and avoided me, as I 
thought; and I wasn’t as crazy as you 
thought me. There is some consolation in 
finding that out,” and Mary smiled rue- 
fully. 

“I’m glad you weren’t luny, Mary dear,” 
with a little hug. “ I thought you had too 
much good sense to go crazy over one insig- 
nificant little man. Why, pet, the world is 
full of them !” 

“Edith,” — softly — “were you ever in 
love?” 

“ Yes, ” said Edith merrily, “ every so many 
times. My heart was wrapped up in Dick — 
that was my first canary — and the cat cut 


230 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


me out. Then I fell in love with Tab — that 
was a white kitten — and he ran off with a 
handsomer girl, eloped. Then I was.desper- 
ately devoted to Snip — that was a Scotch ter- 
rier — and a tramp carried him off. Oh, 
yes ! I’ve had lots of trouble with my lovers. 
And now I am awfully in love with you and 
you repel my wooing.” 

^‘No, Edith, I don’t,” — returning her hug; 
^^but were you ever in love with a real 
live man?” 

Edith was thoughtful a moment; a moist- 
ure rose to her eyes, and she whispered. 

Yes, papa.” 

I came to see you strictly on business,” 
said Edith, after a silence of some moments, 
‘^and here we are spooning away the whole 
afternoon”; and she took a small handbill 
from a pocket in her apron. 

''He is a good lecturer,” said Edith, after 
reading the paper, ''and it will be fun to 
hear him, whether you believe in phrenology 
or not; for he always makes a practical 
application of its principles by examining 
heads before the audience. He came to our 
town a few years ago. Let’s go; only let’s 
take care not to come under the magician’s 
fingers. I wonder what he would find in 
my head,” — glancing sidewise in an adja- 
cent mirror at her shapely cranium. 

"I don’t know; but I’ll warrant sweet- 
meats of some kind.” 

"Oh, how kind you are! But why didn’t 
you say 'pure gold’? ” 


DAWN. 


231 


‘^Because you are too li^ht-headed for 
that.” 

There! Now you think you are smart. 
But come, it’s most three o’clock, and we old 
maids will be an hour getting ready.” 

The lecturer at the Seabright House, 
where Mary and Edith appeared an hour 
later, was a tall man with dark eyes, hair, 
and skin, and a very long black beard. His 
salutation to the audience was about as fol- 
lows : — 

Ladies and Gentlemen of Seabfdght: Since 
you have been kind enough to express a desire 
to hear from me on the subject of phrenology, 
I do not propose to return the courtesy by 
tediousness upon this warm afternoon. I shall 
therefore vary the usual order of my lectures, 
and, instead of expounding the theory of the 
science at the start, shall show you its practical 
application to the living subject; after which, 
if time permits and you are still gracious, I 
shall endeavor, as best I can, to explain the 
mystery, for mystery it will undoubtedly seem 
to many of you. Stubborn and stupid physiol- 
ogists and anatomists will not grant that phren- 
ology is a science; yet science it is, and as 
firmly based in its leading principles as asti on- 
omy. 

After a number of illustrations of the 
principles of his alleged science, furnished 
by examinations of volunteers from the au- 
dience, the lecturer proceeded : — 

The science of phrenology is, from beginning 
to end, a demonstration of the orderliness of the 


232 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


divine method in creation. It is a latter-day- 
revelation. Slowly its outline appeared through 
the fogs and mists which surround human intel- 
ligence; but, when at last it stood out bright 
and clear in all its details, lo ! it was an edifice 
perfect in symmetry from foundation to dome ; 
order and fitness were the laws of its construc- 
tion, — an order so transcendent, a fitness so per- 
fect, that to say they were the offspring of 
human ingenuity would be to infringe the prov- 
ince of the most high God. 

What is man? He is, first, a creature that 
deals with matter, with things that have form, 
that have magnitude, that have color, that have 
arrangement, that have number, that exist in 
time, that are mute, that are sonorous, that have 
position, and that have comparative qualities. 
To help him in the preservation of life he must 
be accurately informed of the proximity of these 
things. Then where should the organs be lo- 
cated that furnish him with this information? 
Why, in the immediate neighborhood of the 
eye, through the medium of which the data 
relative to these things must first be transmitted 
for analysis. And there was where phrenology, 
after long, interminably long, and laborious 
observation was compelled to say they are 
located. 

Again, man must have a memory, a record- 
ing department, where past experiences may be 
filed for future reference ; otherwise his progress 
would be no more rapid than that of the brute. 
And what more fitting locality for memory 
than at the centre of the sources from which it 
must derive its data for record? And there is 
where phrenology has discovered memory to be. 

This striking method is observed in the 


DAWN. 


233 


arrangement of all the other organs of the 
brain. Those faculties that lie at the very 
foundation of life form the literal foundation 
of the brain ; and those that are next in impor- 
tance in the preservation of physical existence 
occupy the next higher tier; and so on, until 
the physical life is actually left behind and we 
come to the group which is the crowning glory, 
the distinguishing feature, of the human race, 
and which indicates for man a higher parentage 
than that of the earth. 

Here the lecturer, by the aid of his pointer, 
located the position upon the chart and gave 
a brief exposition of the use and abuse of 
each organ, beginning with the lowest and 
proceeding upward, until he arrived at the 
highest tier of organs, or that which lies next 
to the top of the skull. Here he paused and, 
lowering his pointer, turned again to the 
audience. 

‘ Right here, ’ he resumed, ‘ occurs a point 
which is worthy of emphasis : thus far I have 
pointed out and described organs which are, for 
the most part, common to man and beast. I 
now come to a group of organs which forms a 
gulf between man and beast as wide and deep 
as the gulf between the East and the West; for 
before us is the realm of the spirit. Here we 
have’ — turning to the chart — ‘the force that 
causes men to feel the touch of nature which 
makes the whole world kin. Here, that which 
makes the smiling face mirror the feeling heart. 
Here, the builder’s rule which keeps the sublime 
from rising up and up until it topples over into 
the mud of the ridiculous. Here, the dissecting 


234 


DOUBTING CASTLE, 


knife of motive, bolstered up by the crucible 
which tries the metal out of which each earthly 
thing is made. Here lies the mask of mimicry, 
through which one soul beholds the world with 
the eyes of another. Here is the wizard’s 
wand ; at its touch the earth is filled with 
sprites and heaven with angel voices and with 
wings that shut and open to us heaven’s blue. 
Here waits the meditating muse until the soul 
is prone to music, and then with magic hand 
she strikes the heavenly lyre and wakes the 
echoes to heroic themes. Here, through this 
window, looks the soul and feels the grandeur 
of the raging sea. Here bloom the flowers of 
hope that with their odors make the future 
sweet. Here sits the censor spurring on the 
lagging foot in Duty’s race. Here is the golden 
chain which links our doings to our neighbor’s 
wish. Here hangs the crown of kingship. 
And here you see the laboratory without whose 
chemistry opinions fade away and leave the 
mind a ghostly blank, if but the sunlight of 
another’s judgment break upon the page of 
thought. 

And again the speaker paused and faced 
his audience. 

I have shown you the gulf between man and 
beast. What do we find upon the farther side? 
A shore too sublimely high for any beast to 
scale, even if he should swim the gulf. It has 
a towering pinnacle of dazzling whiteness, from 
whose summit mortal man looks into the land 
of immortality and sees an immortal and omni- 
potent King upon the throne of his awful 
majesty. And, lo ! as he gazes, within his bosom 
flutters and mourns to he loosed for flight the 


DAWN. 


235 


white dove of his own immortal, homesick soul. 
Far, far beneath him break the black waves of 
this sinful world. Earthly shadows melt and 
disappear. It is the hour of his transfiguration. 
The halo that crowns his head proves the divin- 
ity of which his soul partakes. 

“ Where should the instrument of this faculty 
of the human soul be located? Is it not the 
most precious of all? Then surely it should 
hold the safest and the highest place; and, 
behold, the science of phrenology has ascertained 
its position to be at the cherished and guarded 
centre of all the rest ! It is the keystone of this 
noble arch which holds man above the brute. 
Without it, no matter how strong or brilliant 
his other faculties, his course is ever downward, 
though he be able to land at every lower step 
upon a syllogism. But, with it, call him weak 
or call him dull, he rises steadily upward, and 
at last stands as a living proof that he was 
divine who said, “ Seek first the kingdom of God, 
and all these things shall be added unto you.” 
Symmetry at this point works for symmetry 
in the entire brain. Asymmetry here causes 
asymmetry everywhere. On the one hand the 
man grows stronger and stronger; on the 
other, weaker and weaker, until only a special 
providence can stay the fatal result. 

Mary and Edith exchanged glances. 

The history of nations points the same 
moral. Aspiration toward God and heaven 
elevates a nation; the lack of that aspiration 
depresses it. Its blood turns to water and in 
its weakness it is cast down and trampled to 
death in the march of progress. When you 
look to phrenology, you see the explanation of 


236 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


the fact; in the first case, the keystone of the 
arch is strengthened and the whole structure 
becomes more compact ; in the second case, the 
keystone is weakened, and part after part the 
whole arch falls. Over-cultivation of the intel- 
lect produces this asymmetry, as the stories of 
Greece and Rome can tell. It is a favorite 
theory of mine that this keystone organ is in 
reality the seat of the soul itself. It is at the 
point farthest removed from the earthly part of 
life, and its skylight looks directly into heaven. 
When the individual life is such as to circum- 
scribe this organ, then the soul shrinks and 
pines and dwindles; and persistence in the 
course of life offensive to the soul at last de- 
stroys altogether .the influence of this organ, 
and then the sentence of death is carried out 
against the soul by no divine vengeance, but by 
natural law. 

I repeat that, from this point of view, the 
science of phrenology is a latter-day revelation. 
The truth of its teaching can never be over- 
thrown. 

Our two friends walked toward home, 
and for some time there was silence between 
them. 

“Edith,’’ said Mary at length, “I can’t 
help feeling that there is something more 
than chance in the delivery of this lecture 
here at this time.” 

“Well,” said Edith, “what do you think 
is at the bottom of it, if not chance?” 

“What would you say” — with hesitation 
— “if I should see in it the special provi- 
dence that the phrenologist said was the 


DAWN. 


237 


only thing that could ‘stay the fatal re- 
sult’?” 

“I should be tempted to agree with you,” 
was the very sober response. It is plain to 
me that we have allied ourselves with perni- 
cious forces that are trying to carry us 
contrary to the plan upon which this world 
has been constructed and human society 
organized.” 

Mary was silent for full five minutes be- 
fore speaking again. 

“There are a good many things,” she said 
at length, “that I don’t understand yet, and 
dogmas that I never can agree to. In fact 
I don’t feel that my credulity has grown at 
all. Very likely I shall be as apt as ever to 
use salt with a great deal that is declared 
to be inspired, and with much that is said 
and done in the name of the most high God. 
But somehow I begin to feel that there is a 
comprehensive plan upon which the universe 
is constructed, even in its details, even way 
down to the supervision of the lives of poor 
creatures like me and you, Edith,” and Mary 
sighed. 

“Well that’s good enough, as far as it 
goes, ” said Edith. “ But what are you going 
to do if yoxi meet one of those posers that 
have bothered you so along back?” 

“ Oh ! none of them seems very formidable 
now. I feel assured that there is a plan in 
things and that there is a fatherly supervis- 
ion of human affairs, — for I think we both 
have had proof of that in this chain of cir- 


238 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


cumstances, to which I, at least, am indebted 
for so much mental relief — and I can charge 
these things that are hard for me to believe 
either to the details of the plan which, not 
being omniscient, I cannot expect perfectly 
to comprehend, or to the peculiar necessities 
of people who are not constructed exactly 
as I am.” 

“ Don’t you think you might lay a portion 
of the difficulties to the frailty of the human 
instruments employed in making the Bible 
and in framing its theology?” said Edith. 

“Yes,” said Mary, “but I don’t feel am- 
bitious any more to find difficulties. We 
have had proof, I think, that there is such a 
thing as providential supervision of earthly 
matters, and Christianity sems so much in 
harmony with its plan that it looks to me 
like a part of it. When one has reached 
that point, all these difficulties dwindle to 
nothing. It makes no difference whether 
one believes somo of the Bible stories false, 
or believes them all true, or neither believes 
nor disbelieves them; the main facts are 
so much more significant that these minor 
things are lost sight of.” 

“I think myself,” said Edith, “that the 
difficulty in believing such things really 
comes from scepticism with regard to the 
personal interference of God in human af- 
fairs, and not from the fact that it’s hard to 
believe in the fulfilment of prophecy or the 
working of miracles, such interference being 
granted.” 


DAWN. 


239 


“ But, ” said Mary, “ the old question would 
come right up again as to the probability of 
God’s taking that course, when he might 
have taken a much more consistent one; 
and after all what would its discussion 
amount to? We have tried that and we 
know what good comes of it — nothing, as 
far as I can see, but wasted breath and 
wearied brains.” 

They were now approaching the house, 
and Edith suddenly exclaimed, “ Oh, there’s 
George!” and in a moment he had over- 
whelmed them. 

At bedtime Mary and Edith went upstairs 
and into Mary’s room together. There was 
a moon and they lit no lamp. All at once 
Mary gave a little exclamation of pleasure 
and pointed to the wall at the head of the 
bed, where was hanging her favorite picture 
of Christ blessing little children. 

“ George must have brought it from Boston 
this afternoon,” said Mary. 

As the soft moonlight lit up the holy face, 
the benignant eyes seemed to Mary to beam 
with a kinder light than ever before. When 
Mrs. Temple stepped softly to Mary’s door 
a few moments later, she saw two white- 
robed figures kneeling together, kissed by 
the lovely light of the moon. Each had an 
arm twined about the other, while upon the 
free hand of each was bowed a reverent 
head. The lady gazed but a moment, and 
then with rising tears withdrew as softly as 
she had come. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


BROAD DAYLIGHT. 

Professor Parker was on the train for 
Seabright, and he soliloquized as follows : — 

“ It was not my fault that mother mislaid 
Mary’s note during my illness, and I have 
only just run across it ; but it is my duty to 
go and apologize and explain. Besides I 
ought to return Mrs. Goodrich’s note to her 
on the subject of the locket and explain also 
how I came to read it. And yet I am afraid 
I am the moth tempting the candle’s flame.” 

This mood of definite resolve seemed to be 
followed by one of irresolution; for when 
the train ran into Seabright, the professor 
seemed to have grave doubts of the propri- 
ety of landing, and it was only when the 
conductor shouted “All aboard!” that he 
finally stepped upon the platform. After 
several minutes spent in deliberation, he 
started off slowly in the direction of the 
Temple mansion, but instead of continuing 
his walk until he arrived there he stopped 
at the Suffolk residence. The lady of the 
house herself answered his ring. 

“Why, Professor,” she exclaimed, “how 


BROAD DAYLIGHT. 


241 


glad I am to see you ! Where is Mr. An- 
thony? Hope you will stay with us the rest 
of the summer now. How tired you look ! 
You certainly ought to rest here by the sea 
for a good month. You have not recovered 
from your illness sufficiently to endure the 
heat of the city, I’m sure. Mr. Suffolk is 
off fishing with a party of gentlemen, hut I 
expect him home every moment. They’ve 
been gone since morning. Well, make your- 
self entirely at home. Your old room has 
not been occupied since you left, and you will 
find it all ready for you. You are only too 
welcome.” 

The professor was getting paler and more 
nervous every moment and hardly seemed to 
hear this fusillade of cordiality. His first 
step, after seeking his room, was to write a 
letter to his mother announcing his safe ar- 
rival, after mailing which, and making be- 
lieve eat a little supper, he again sought his 
room, threw open all the windows and blinds 
and sat himself down to calm his beating 
heart with a view of the sunset effects upon 
sea and land. He had been sitting thus 
more than an hour and was becoming quite 
calm when he was suddenly electrified by a 
party, or rather the presence of one person 
in a party, of young people who where pass- 
ing upon the sidewalk. How his heart 
throbbed as his eye fell upon the stately fig- 
ure and recognized the superb carriage of 
Mary Temple ! How quickly all his irreso- 
lution passed into unstable vapor and left 
16 


242 


DOUBTING CASTLE. 


for parts unknown ! Before he knew what 
he was about, he was upon the street and 
moving after the young people, who were 
only a little way ahead. Mary and Edith 
were walking together. Eobin was some- 
times with them and sometimes with George 
and Josie, who were in advance. At length 
the professor lost sight of the party behind 
the rock. 

The day had been very warm ; hardly a 
breath of air had ruffled the waters of the 
bay, the surface of which, as the sun went 
down, became as smooth as glass and scarcely 
showed the slightest undulation. It was 
now getting dusk, but the full moon, just 
beginning to show above the level sea, 
promised soon to compensate the loss of the 
sun. 

The professor drew near the rock, and 
seeing, as he thought, the entire party some 
distance down the beach, leisurely took his 
way along the winding path which led to 
its summit. He had arrived within a few 
feet of the rustic seat, which was still hidden 
from view by the clump of bushes, when the 
sound of voices directly in front brought him 
to a halt. He was about to retrace his steps 
to the foot of the rock, when he heard his 
own name mentioned, and, recognizing the 
voice of Edith Nickerson, he stood still. 

“I don’t think Professor Parker could 
have seen you, Mary ; or at any rate it is 
not likely that he knew that you had seen 
him. I’m very much inclined to think that 


BROAD DAYLIGHT. 


243 


the professor is just as much in love with 
you as you are with him.” 

Here a small stone, disturbed by the pro- 
fessor’s foot, rolled to the bottom of the lit- 
tle hillock upon which he stood. 

“Sh!” said the other occupant of the seat, 
and the professor heard no more. His heart 
throbbed so loudly that he feared it would 
alarm the people in front of him ; hut when 
he thought of withdrawing from his equivo- 
cal position, a strange irresolution prevented. 
His feet seemed frozen to the earth and 
he stood as one petrified. What had he 
heard? Where was he? He was surely 
dreaming. This was a tantalizing night- 
mare. Then a sudden wave of delight 
chased the blood hotly through his veins. 
He felt an overwhelming impulse to throw 
himself at the feet of the girl whose love for 
him had thus been betrayed. But still he 
could not move. Then slowly, from some 
far-away corner of his consciousness, there 
began to creep over him a dull sense of pain. 
It gradually increased in volume until it 
thrilled him with exquisite torture in every 
fibre and overfiowed his being with a river of 
pain, the sound of whose waters were the 
words of a plaintive song sung near a wave- 
beaten shore, the notes of which, as they 
quivered and beat like the wings of a bird 
against the bars of its cage, uttered the 
terrible thought, — 

“ Earth is thy dam, the sun thy sire, 

Thou foolish, mortal soul!” 


244 DOUBTING CASTLE. 

And close upon the last note these words, 
like great, black drops of wormwood, fell 
into his cup of agony, already full ; — 

“As God is my witness, I never will 
marry a woman who has not perfect faith 
in the fatherhood of God.” 

Suddenly the voice of Edith Nickerson 
woke the sufferer to his position. “ Come, 
Mary, let’s go down,” she said; and at the 
same time a light and quick footfall neared 
the spot where the professor stood. With a 
great effort he stepped to one side of the 
path and into the shadow of the hushes. 
The young lady passed on down the walk, 
but stopped at about its middle point. The 
professor thought he was discovered. “ Come, 
Mary !” called a voice ; then the figure again 
moved on and was soon lost to view at the 
base of the rock. Mary did not follow ; and 
still the professor did not run away from 
the temptation before him. Was his simple 
pledge worth this fearful sacrifice? Was it 
not better to break one’s word than to blight 
two lives forever? He moved a step in the 
direction of the rustic seat. But a strong 
hand seemed laid upon his shoulder, while 
a solemn voice whispered in his ear, “ Keep, 
therefore, the words of this covenant !” In 
the deep and breathless silence around him, 
the tempted man felt the dawning of a new 
light. His heart ceased its violent throb- 
bing and his mind grew calm. Again the 
voice was heard: “A faithful man shall 
abound with blessings, ” it said . The tempter 


BROAD DAYLIGHT. 


345 


was gone, and the tempted turned reso- 
lutely about and started down the path. 
But now the notes of a familiar tune came 
floating from the hay. He paused and lis- 
tened, and once more he heard, as he had 
heard weeks before, to the measured stroke 
of oars, the sweet .alto voice clearly uttering 
the words, — 

“ Lord, tarry not, but come. ” 

The voice died away and the sound of the 
oars ceased, as the boat, moving parallel 
with the shore, passed out of earshot to- 
ward Storm Cabin. 

But now a sweeter, clearer, and more 
magnetic voice echoed from the summit of 
the rock but a few feet in front of the 
listener, — 

“ Love, rest and home ! 

Lord, tarry not, but come. ” 

The old thrill woke again in his veins ; and 
this time with unfettered ecstasy. He could 
hardly believe his ears; yet the voice sang 
on through a whole stanza and wound up 
with the refrain in such passionate earnest- 
ness that his doubt was shaken, and once 
more his steps were turned toward the sum- 
mit of the rock. Silently, but swiftly and 
with eager feet, he passed beyond the clump 
of bushes and came into full view of the rus- 
tic seat ; and there before him, in the silence 
of the summer evening, bathed with the 
light of the moon, he beheld the kneeling 
flgure of Mary Temple with her head bowed 


346 


doubting castle. 


in prayer. The last trace of doubt melted 
away in the moonlight. He paused, and 
with uncovered and bowed head he waited 
for the girl to look up, and then stepped 
quickly to her side. 

When Edith returned a few moments later 
in quest of her friend, she was surprised to 
find Professor Parker upon the rustic seat 
by Mary’s side, holding one of her hands in 
both of his. 


THE END. 



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